Treating Hypothermia
by AliceUnderSkies13
Summary: A surgical nurse with curly red hair, a male nurse that I may or may not be in love with (joking), an MMA fighter with a sexy body, a convict that makes me crazy, and a new girl with really long hair. Oh, and I'm a surgeon with an ice cold soul. This should be...interesting. RotBTD Medical Drama AU. Multiple pairings.
1. Diagnosis

**A/N: Hey, guys. This is something I have been working hard on for a little while now. I just had this idea with Jack as a surgeon, and I went with it. This will be a modern day medical AU with as many characters from the RotBTD fandom as I can possibly fit haha. The pairings will be: Jackunzel, HiccupxAstrid, and some others that I don't want to spoil xD. This story will have long chapters, just warning you all in advance. **

**Anyways, enjoy and please review! Tell me if you guys want more :).**

* * *

She dies beneath my fingertips. It's slow. Blood slipping through her veins. Her body breaks. I dropped an hourglass once; it kind of looked like this. Except the blood was sand and I didn't feel so empty. Brown eyes go dark. That light goes out. You know, the light of life? That glimmer inside you that lets others know you are not just some emotionless zombie.

People say that my light is gone.

I'm alive, but it's gone.

Apparently, that's what makes me such a good surgeon.

My light is gone. Her light is gone. The girl on my operating table. She dies beneath my fingertips. It's quick. A red heart suddenly turning cold. I unplugged a television once, it kind of looked like this. Blank screen, blank eyes. Blackness that seeps out of every orifice. Feel it across my gloved hands. Blue latex stained with blood. Am I shaking? No, I'm not shaking. I'm not shaking. A silver scalpel, made for cutting and slicing, presses against my forefinger.

It cuts a hole in my head. Slices my eyes open as I stare at her lifeless body. This never bothers me. It shouldn't bother me now. People become corpses. Corpses become empty dolls in my mind. Seeing dead people is normal here.

This girl was already on course. Paramedics outside the ER. Rain is falling. It goes sideways in the streets. They wheel her out. A little girl hit by a car. Not even a normal car. An evil car that banged her up and drove away. Of course, there were people in that car. Evil people that I can't imagine because I look for the best in everyone. I look for the best chance in my patients. The best vein and artery. The best bone, bleached beneath the yellow lamps. Muscles all bundled together like straws.

I search for it until I find it, the best chance for them to live.

This girl didn't have one. Her chest was already open, her heart already punctured. I tried. She died. That's it. And so she dies beneath my fingertips. Slow and quick. I feel…cold. I say nothing, receding back into the blankness of my eyes and letting my hands fall loosely to my side. Look down at the operating table, gazing at the bits and pieces of a once live little girl. Within the glass eyes and paper lips, I see her. The shadow of my little sister. This could be her, this corpse could be her. I swallow hard and try to look away.

This is too much. I've never had a child die on my operating table. Med school only a few years behind me, brilliance only gets me so far…

Supposed brilliance. Grit my teeth behind my mask. This isn't brilliance. Life is nothing here. Nothing but broken bones with a sprinkle of blood on top. A swollen lamp, which shimmers with fake light, has her in the crosshairs. A spotlight, a stupid, pointless spotlight. I look askance at the nurses standing next to me, unable to blink or breath. Are they staring at me? I can't tell.

They huddle together. No one speaks. Someone just died…wow.

I take a deep breath. It's like my lungs are elastic. "Well, that's that. Just…"

"Doctor."

There's her voice. Merida…the surgical nurse beside me. She stares at me, her blue eyes wide. See her breath, her shoulders move. I'm here, inside this body. I'm out there, watching her, watching me. In the moment of total numbness, I notice the strangest things. The red curl poking out from under her cap. No matter how hard she tries, it's always there.

Sometimes, I see her pull it out. Almost in defiance. But why am I noticing that? Who cares? There's a girl lying dead and all I can see is a stupid curl. This feeling deep inside. I want to rip it off her head, make it stop taunting me.

That's it. I'm done.

I'm done.

"Just finish up." I start pulling my gloves off. Snapping is so loud in this room filled with silence. Maybe it will drown out my thoughts. No one can hear these words inside my head, no one can know. I'm a surgeon, I'm cold and clinical. These thoughts can't be mine. Those things blurring my vision, they can't be tears.

Someone behind me. "Doctor, I—"

"Finish up." Struggling to get the gloves off. Damn gloves, this is so damn hard, so damn stupid, like this room, this hospital, like me. Because I must be damned if I can't even save a little girl.

Merida's hissing in my ear. "Jack. Jack, stop."

She touches my arm. It makes me flinch. What's wrong with me?

"You did the best you could."

My face is twisted with so much confusion and hatred for her right now. Behind my mask, I'm biting my lip, not knowing what to say. "My…my best? This is my best?"

"I think you should step outside, Jack."

No, no. How could she say that? My best? "If this is my best…"

"Step outside, Jack."

I'm on her in a second. Bearing down on her with my eyes. Eyes blue as ice, cold as the operating room. "The hell do you know? This isn't my best….can't be my best."

She isn't fazed. "Step. Outside. Doctor."

Each word punched out. As if on a typewriter. Merida doesn't mind that I'm bearing down on her. Catching her like a star in my net. I catch her and want to extinguish her right there because she is so much stronger than I am. I am jealous of her. That calm demeanor, standing before a fire and never blinking. She should be the surgeon.

I should be dead. Just like that girl on the table. Better yet, I should take her place all together.

Before Merida can touch me again, I'm gone. Blue gloves in between blood-stained fingers. And then I've stepped outside, just like she asked. White door behind my back. I close my hands against it. A long hallway before me. Another set of doors. Beyond that, more hallways, twisting and turning. Ghosts walk through them, the living and dead alike.

Wish I was dead. No, stupid Jack, don't feel sorry for yourself. Just slide down the door and bury your face in your knees. Rip the mask off your face, pull the cap off your head.

I'm crying into my scrubs.

Reminds me of my sister that time I died for thirty seconds. She was sobbing into my mother's pant leg, all snot-faced and puffy eyed. I told her to stop. Just smile. I'm alive now, aren't I? Thinking of my sister only makes me cry harder. This is so unlike me. Reminds me of the time I walked into Hiccup's apartment and found his girlfriend, Astrid, crying. She might look tough, but on the inside she's worried about him and the way his father treats him for being a male nurse and so she was crying and it was so unlike her and I didn't know what to do so I offered her one of the beers that was going to be for Hiccup but he wasn't home yet and then she got drunk and invited Merida over and I wanted to climb into the refrigerator because it was so hot and a tipsy Merida was trying to kiss me and Astrid and, and, and...

So many run-on thoughts. Filling up my mind and making my eyes explode.

We never talk about that night, me and Merida.

She's a Scott. Supposedly, she can hold her liquor. So she couldn't have been that drunk. And that's why we don't talk about it. Because maybe it was real?

Stop it! Stop thinking, Jack! Digging my knuckles into my eyes, I try to stop crying. My hands are shaking. I swear, I'm having some kind of breakdown. Memories are dredged up from the basement of my brain. Things I don't remember.

But this was a long time coming. I've been on edge for weeks, months even. Jumping straight out of med school and into the real world where a screw-up results in death, not a failing grade. I guess I am a decent surgeon. Able to compartmentalize my feelings. They can't always be boxed away, though.

This is it, my first death. Every surgeon has one, the first person to die on their operating table.

Don't get me wrong, I see dead bodies all the time. Rolling beside me, just like passing a car on the highway. I've observed other surgeons, seen people die right there. It's never bothered me before.

This is it, my first death. And it has to be a child.

Bite down on my knuckles. Wipe the tears away. The door is shaking behind me. People are whispering. Merida is probably closing her up, hands steady.

She once told me closing up patients was easy for her. "Like sowing a tapestry for my mum." She assists so many surgeons. It's hard to tell when I see her after a surgery, whether or not the patient died. Her face is always the same. But she feels, I know she does. Because when I first met her and asked her why she had become a surgical nurse, she looked me dead in the eye and said, "Because I want to change people's fates."

So she's finishing up inside the operating room and I'm cowering like a baby out here. It's unprofessional, I know, but give me a break...

The door opens. It hits me in the back of the head. Ow.

"Jack."

"Merida."

There's that red curl. It almost makes me laugh.

Laugh? What the hell?

"You have to get up. You have to tell the family. They're waiting."

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Air spiraling down my throat. Cold and dry. "I can't."

She kneels in front of me. One hand touching my knee, the other pulling down her mask. I see her in her entirety. Blue eyes, sunburnt cheeks. She has a way of looking at people. Like you are the only person in the world, you are the only one that matters. She cares, she really does.

"Listen to me. What happened in there, it will happen again. You can't save everyone."

"But you said you wanted to change fate, that's why you're a nurse. You want to—"

Hands grab my shirt. "I don't always get what I want. No one does. I would love to save every person that comes here, but I can't. Doesn't stop me from trying, though. I'll be damned if I ever stop trying." She's so close to me, noses brushing. I hear her, I really do…

"I know you care a lot about children, Jack. I get it. Watching a child die is…terrifying. But you can't do this."

"I know. I can't breakdown."

"No. I mean you can't do this alone."

It's like time has stopped. I can't breathe or see. She doesn't want me to be alone…wow. Feel her smile against my forehead. Her curls spill out. For a moment, I'm inside a red waterfall. The hospital is gone. I want to be my sister for a few seconds, just so I can look at Merida and tell her what a great friend she is. Because my sister is so good at that.

My best friend holds me until it's time to go. I have to tell the girl's family. Merida pulls me to my feet. Give me a nod, gesture to the door. She goes with me. And then the paramedic who first arrived is there. How he got here, I don't know. All I see is the long hallway. Something drags me down it. An invisible thing. I wish I was invisible right now. It's hard to keep any of this in my short term memory. Broken up pieces of a silent film. The dialogue on the bottom of the screen.

Walk through the doors. Eyes look up at me. Can they read the expression on my face?

I try to analyze them as I walk up. What kind of family are they? What will they do once I tell them? Fall down and cry, bow their heads in silence?

I can feel the fear.

They lean slightly forward. Just say something, please. Anything.

I can't hear myself think. I can't hear myself talk.

"I'm so sorry. We did everything we could, but she didn't make it."

The longest pause in my entire life.

And then a woman falls to her knees and wails. Someone goes to comfort her. A man covers his face with his hands. I hear nothing. A silent film. The next scene is Merida holding some woman. Maybe an aunt, an older cousin.

I can't move.

Time goes by and I want this movie to end.

But it never will.

* * *

Blink. Press fast forward and then play. I'm sitting in a car. Hiccup's black, eleven thousand dollar smart car. Why did he buy this? I can barely fit my feet up on the dash.

Hiccup reminds me that I'm not supposed to use his car as a place to relax.

"Come on, get your feet off. And don't recline the seat."

"Geez, give me a break. I had a hard day."

We haven't left the parking lot. He shifts his hands on the wheel. "I know."

A heavy silence. I hear the muffled sound of other cars, the steady thumping of the radio. Can't tell which song it is, the volume is too low. But I hear the base. It vibrates inside my skull. Sounds like a heartbeat, a slow and steady heartbeat slowly decreasing and fading and dying just like that little girl…

Groaning, I throw myself across the passenger's seat and into Hiccup's lap.

"What the hell?" Hiccup flinches, hitting his elbow against the window. "Jack, get up. I have to drive. Just get—"

He pauses. I can't see his face. My head is buried in his legs. My eyes looking into darkness. A pair of scrubs beneath my cheek. They're so soft. That's because he washes them in fabric softener, the syrupy kind that smells like an ocean breeze. He loves to sail. Of course, his clothes would reflect that, too.

Normally, this would be a joke. I tackle him all the time, bury my face in his shaggy hair and tease him about his flat butt. Astrid will usually hit me after a comment like that.

But this isn't a joke.

I'm sad and he's my friend. And that's what I want right now. So when he sighs and places his hand on my head, I don't laugh. It's a long sigh dragged up from his lungs. If I put my fingers on his chest, I could probably feel his ribs moving. But I won't do that. Things are already weird enough. This is a necessary weirdness, though.

We stay like this for a few minutes. He's probably leaning against the door, his cheek in his palm. If someone were to look in the window right now, there would probably be a new rumor spreading around the hospital in seconds. Oh no, Hiccup the male nurse and Jack the surgeon were caught in a car together. Rumors spread like ice across a pond. They're everywhere here.

A little rumor would be nice. I don't even care right now. Maybe I'll tell everyone that Hiccup and I are running away together, that would be hilarious. And then I'll say that Merida and I are actually long lost siblings and maybe I'll sweep her off her feet and kiss her in front of the whole staff.

No. Stop it, Jack. I manage a small smile into those sweet smelling scrubs. Making sure my eyes are dry, I sit up and clear my throat. Run my hand through my hair, plug in my seatbelt, scratch the side of my nose.

Hiccup sighs again and taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

A long pause. A very long pause. He goes to turn up the radio, then stops his hand midway. I start clicking my tongue. Let's count the seconds, shall we?

One, two, three, four, five—

"Ok, you want to head home now?"

There it is.

I nod, a fleeting smile on my lips. Hiccup does his signature eye roll at nothing in particular, then turns the car on and backs out. The drive is long and pretty silent, broken up by bursts of conversation and songs from the radio. Turn the radio up with my toes. My shoes and socks are on the floor. Hiccup gives me unnerving glances, but says nothing. It's fun to piss him off. Slowly pulling at his nerves…using my big toe to turn the dial…smirking and waiting for him to roll his eyes…

Nothing happens.

With a sigh, I lean back in the seat. Maybe I should take a nap, talk a little bit more, turn the volume up. Hiccup keeps driving.

Bits and pieces of words, weaving in and out of the car. Our conversations are random as usual.

"How's Toothless?"

"Good."

"What's he been up to?"

"Well, he's a cat, so he does cat things. Eating, sleeping, playing with the occasional lizard that sneaks into the apartment."

"Sounds nice." I go to pull my hood up, then I remember that I'm wearing scrubs. Crap. "Has he eaten those flowers?"

Hiccup raises his eyebrows. "What flowers?"

"The ones that Merida gave Astrid. You know, to congratulate her for winning her latest fight?"

"Uh, no, I don't know. I know Astrid won her fight. Of course she did, she always does. But what flowers? I would know if there were flowers in my apartment." Drums his fingers on the wheel, his eyes rolling.

I smile. I love it when I know more about his life than he does. "Merida got Astrid a bunch of yellow roses. I went with her to Publix to buy them. And she flipped out because apparently they have dyed roses and you know how she is, all 'that isn't natural. What happened to appreciating nature as it is? Why do people have to change everything?' So she bought yellow instead. Now they're sitting in a vase in the workout/studio room."

Hiccup looks at me for a good five seconds. Want to tell him to keep his eyes on the road.

"Seriously, Jack. It's like you're constantly spying on me. How do you know things like this?"

"Oh, you caught me. I can turn invisible and every night I slip into your room and watch you sleep." I give him a light punch in the arm. "You wish, huh?"

"You're a moron."

A bit more silent driving. Then talk turns to the "sexy fact of the week". It's a game we play every Friday. Just our little way of prying into each other's private lives.

"You go first, Hic."

"Fine."

"And I promise I won't laugh."

He rolls his eyes. "I don't care if you laugh. Anyways, you'll like this one. Sometimes, Astrid and I roleplay…as Vikings."

For a split second, I try to picture this. Both of them wearing those hats with the curving horns coming out the side, Astrid is the wild dragon and Hiccup is the tamer. And now they're moving across the bed, pretending it's a ship. Wow, I am such a perv.

Shake my head, try to get rid of that mental image. Then I start laughing.

"You really shouldn't promise things, Jack." He's trying to sound angry, but he keeps smiling,

"Come on, man, cut me some slack. You, a roleplayer? That's pretty hilarious." I pull my knees up to my chin. "Why Vikings?"

Hiccup shrugs. "I don't know. Does it matter? Anyways, you haven't told me yours, yet."

"There isn't anything to tell."

"No new rendezvous?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's just me in my apartment. Allll alllooonnee." I stress these words and stick my lip out in a pout. Look at me Hiccup, just look at your poor pathetic friend sitting in the passenger's seat. Watch him tap the steering wheel, heave a sigh and roll his eyes. Here it comes. Ask me to stay the night…ask me…

"Listen, you can stay at my apartment if you want. Just for tonight."

"Wow, really? What a generous offer, you are too kind." I flash the biggest smile I can muster. Batting my eyelashes and trying to produce a single tear. Doesn't really work.

Hiccup smiles and gives me one of his don't-overdo-it looks. "Yeah, yeah. You had no idea I was gonna offer. I'm only doing this because you've been having a hard month."

"A hard week, Hic. Not month. I've been fine."

He looks at me for a long time. Those eyes make me nervous. "Trust me, you've had a hard month."

We fall back into silence again. The car hits a pothole. Both of us jump a little in our seats. I lean my face against the window. Cold beneath my cheek. Streaks of sunlight touch the glass, fall across my knees. It's all so awkward now. Because Hiccup is right. He looks into me and through me. I sit here and think about the difference between outside and inside.

He's a nice guy. He found Toothless on the side of the road, hit by a car. And he rescued the broken and bloody cat. I remember seeing Toothless for the first time. White bandages around his abdomen, this angry look in his eye. All fleeting fire that bore right through you and touched your soul. A little dramatic, I know. But it's true. Hiccup shares his cat's glare. I feel it on me now.

Toothless was hit by a car, just like that little girl. Biting my lip, I look out the window. Will this car ride never end? My question is answered in exactly nine hundred seconds. Trust me, I've been counting. We pull into the parking lot. Black asphalt and white lines going every which way. There are plenty of handicap spots, but Hiccup won't park there. He never does.

I stare enviously at them as we pass. Rubbing my nose all over the window, groaning loudly. "Seriously, why don't you ever park there? You have a handicap sticker in the glove box!"

"I've explained this, Jack." He sighs as he pulls into a spot all the way at the end. "There are other people who really need it. I am not one of those people. It would be selfish for me to park there." He tugs on my scrubs. "Stop smearing your face all over my window. I just cleaned it."

"Fine. I'm just saying that you do lack a foot, which makes you legally handicap, but whatever. Do what you want."

"Thanks. I will." He laughs and pulls on my hair.

"Woah, Hiccup's getting flirty." I lunge at him, ruffling his hair with both hands. Thick tresses of brown beneath my fingertips.

Every inch of my hands is nicked and full of tiny holes. Pricking myself with needles in med school, pricking myself with needles when I was alone. Being lonely sucks. Hiccup knows the feeling. When he lost his foot in the airplane accident, he was alone for weeks in the hospital. Of course, I visited. Merida and Astrid did, too. Astrid was there every day.

So I guess he wasn't alone, he just felt lonely. Even when surrounded by all those people. Being alone and being lonely aren't the same, are they?

"Jack!"

"Huh?"

I'm falling against the door, pulling Hiccup with me. I hit the window, the handle, and then it's open. The smart car is parked, thankfully. Maybe not thankfully. It would be fun to roll across the street. Thrown onto the black asphalt, watching the sky backflip as I spin. Red lines down my face, on my hands. There I go again, my masochistic self.

But the car is parked, so I just somersault over the seat and land on the lot. Holy crap…that hurt.

"Jack! Are you ok?"

Taking a deep breath, I roll over. Nod my head. Taste the blood on my lip. I'm laughing. My body shakes against the road.

"This isn't funny! You're bleeding!" Hiccup is leaning over the seat. White knuckles gripping the edge. Eyes wide like moons. Come on, roll them. Roll them. He doesn't.

I'm on the asphalt, shivering and laughing and tasting blood on my teeth and feeling the gravel beneath my skin and looking up at a fading sky as the evening creeps closer and the stars come out against the backdrop of the moon and then I feel a drop of rain. No wait, not rain. It's a tear. I'm crying.

Laughing and crying at the same time. Through a blur of tears, I see his face. He must have got out of the car. Hear the metal foot scrape the side. See the brown bangs and the eyes that look right through me. Everything that happened today comes out. Bones rattle, nails claw. I feel everything.

I am within myself and without. Looking out from the apartment window. Lying on the black asphalt. Hiccup hovers over me.

"Jack? Hey…hey, it's ok."

This is so embarrassing. I don't know why I'm crying. At least it's a silent cry. Shoulders shaking as tears roll down my cheeks.

My voice is a whisper. "Don't look at me."

"No, don't say that. It's all right." Hand on my shoulder. Fingers down my face. "It's ok to cry, Jack."

"I want to be invisible."

"You're not. I see you."

And then he pulls me up in a hug. Hands behind my back. Like a scene out of a movie. All we need is the pouring rain and forbidden love. Even now, I can be funny. Because salt on my cheek will dry and turn to dust. Pour it all into my hands. Pinpricked fingers trembling at my side. But Hiccup holds them steady.

I swear, if he wasn't in love with Astrid…

"Yeah, you've definitely had a hard month."

I shrug. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course I am." He gives me one last squeeze. Something he would never do. "Now get up before this gets too weird. Two guys hugging in a parking lot is a little awkward. Especially since I have a girlfriend."

"So if you didn't have a girlfriend…"

He gives me that look. "No. Shut up." A hand reaches toward me. "Come on, it's almost dark."

I take his hand. His rough fingers grab my pinpricked ones. This has been an embarrassing day. But whatever. A yellow sun is setting. Hopefully my mind will set, too. Set these thoughts into the ocean of my brain and hide them forever.

The steps up to Hiccup's apartment are long and steep. He never takes the elevator. But he should, he really should. I look at the first step. If Hiccup can do this, I most certainly can.

* * *

Sitting at their bar, a pint of ice cream on the granite. A silver spoon slowly skims the sides. Circular lights overhead. Drops of mint on my tongue. I love this apartment.

But do I love the girl grumbling about my idiocy and lack of self-control? No, not really.

And lecturing me about self-control…seriously?

Astrid slaps a Band-Aid on my chin and punches me in the shoulder blade. The bar stool jiggles just a bit. I grin. Toes curled around the legs, I go for the little ride, letting the stool shake against the tile. Astrid is pretty strong. But I think I'm stronger. We often argue about that. Of course, I'm just being sarcastic, but she goes all out. It's fun to light her fuse.

She glares at me from across the counter. Blonde bangs in her left eye. "So, Hiccup tells me that you're doing really well at the hospital. It's kind of…impressive."

I raise my eyebrows. Hold the spoon in my mouth with tentative teeth. "You're being uncharacteristically nice today."

A small smile. She holds up a finger. "You didn't let me finish. You're doing well blah, blah, blah. But you need to get your shit together."

There it is. Some of her signature Honey and the Hatchet advice.

I hear Hiccup groan in the other room. These walls are thin. "Come on, Astrid, lay off. He's had a hard day."

His eye rolling habit has rubbed off on her. Those fierce blue eyes touch the ceiling. "You know what's hard?"

"Hiccup's—"

"Stop it, Jack! Just because I'm in the other room doesn't mean I can't hear you or see that stupid smirk on your face!"

Astrid breaks character for a moment. That tough expression falling away. She's giving me a mental high-five. I can tell.

It's gone in a second. Now she's leaning across the counter. Knuckles lined up on the granite with her elbows bent. All angular lines. Some constellation way up in the sky.

She asks her question again. "You know what's hard?"

"Trying to do it with Hiccup while he's still wearing his prosthetic foot?"

She ignores me and holds up a fist. "This is hard. Imagine these knuckles jammed up your nose."

Tap the spoon against my lip. "I'm imagining something else jammed up my nose."

Another audible groan from Hiccup. He emerges from the bedroom, hair wet. He just got out of the shower. The only bathroom in the apartment is off the master suite. How inconvenient. Inconvenient for him. Not me. Because I will gladly stomp through there at three am.

He walks up to the counter. "Must everything you say be sex oriented?"

I don't even try to stifle a laugh. "Oh Hic, you are totally setting yourself up for a sexual orientation joke!"

"Honestly, Jack…"

Give him a shrug. "You know how I am. I'm fluent in three languages. English, sarcasm, and sexual innuendoes." My spoon scrapes the bottom of the carton. "Now you got any more ice cream? Preferably mint flavored?"

"Yeah. It's in the freezer. Here, I'll get it." Hiccup sighs and shakes his head in my general direction. Water hits my face.

Astrid is grinning from ear to ear. I see those slight shoulders shake with laughter. "It's like you're his little bitch. Getting him ice cream, letting him stay the night…"

This is too much. I burst out laughing.

The clinking of silver on my teeth. Breath of A/C on my neck. Sudden cold as Hiccup presses the ice cream carton against my neck. It doesn't really bother me. Not at all.

But I still say something. "What'd you do that for? She's the one who called you my bitch."

"You laughed." He puts the carton in front of me. Crap. It's not mint. "And she's just being harshly sarcastic, and what she's really trying to say is that I am too kind. Isn't that right, Astrid?"

"Basically."

"I knew it."

"Know-it-all."

"Stop it, Astrid. I refuse to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed person."

A growl rises in her throat. "Oh you did not just say that!"

In a split second, she's on him, punching him in the arm. "That's for telling me to stop. And that's for calling me unarmed!"

They go back and forth like this. Sliding all over the kitchen floor. Two kids on the ice. Punching turns to playful shoving. Astrid even gives him a slap on that skinny ass of his. This is their relationship. Two dragons in the sky. One spits fire into the other's face. Red hot embers tangled in locks of hair. They dive and weave, shying away from the flames. Like sparks inside a nest of coals. Dying coals all black and withered. I'll sit and let them rub up against each other. Maybe they'll spontaneously combust.

They are two very different people. Hiccup is a male nurse with an ashamed father. He originally wanted to be a pilot, but after the accident, he had to change career paths. The accident, a quick flight in his very own plane, the Night Fury, that resulted in a crash. Shaky controls and wide eyes. It was a gift from his dad, the only nice thing he had ever gotten from his old man. And it skidded in the grass and burst into flames, catching his foot in the twisted metal. Now he is a footless male nurse. He's never been happier, or more insane.

Astrid is an MMA fighter with scars on her knuckles. She is a piece of candy in one of those heart-shaped boxes. Hard on the outside. Soft on the inside. I'll say it, she's sexy. Gets her bangs cut choppy and her braid pulled tight. Each fight is fun to watch. Sweaty hands grab the chain-link. Female bodies writhe. Glistening beneath spotlights, tearing out their hair and screaming. It's hot to watch, hot to think about. Astrid's scream tears up her throat.

They're different people, but they're almost the same. Astrid makes him feel better whenever his father gives him crap about his job. Her blend of Honey and Hatchet advice. Soft butterfly kisses and hard punches to the arm. Hiccup always cheers her on whenever she has a fight. He'll draw complex diagrams representing her momentum and the physics behind the fight. Here's how to improve the power of your punches. This angle, that angle. Look at all the science.

They are perfect together.

Two dragons in the sky. One dragon cutting jagged lines in the other's consciousness. They have always been like this. Butting heads because they are both so smart and witty. Jabbing at each other can be fun. I watch them fight. Eventually, they'll tire of arguing and collapse onto the couch. Astrid sits as close as she can to him and he leans against her shoulder. An outsider would look at them with wary eyes. Are they in love? What's their deal?

But it's obvious if you stare at them long enough.

An optical illusion looks like nothing at first glance. Can't find the old lady, can't find the young woman. One in the same, who knows? Just a blanket of white and black draped over shapes that hurt my brain. Look again, and there it is. I see it all.

Looking at Hiccup and Astrid on the couch, I see it all again. He slouches, hand gently stroking her knee, eyes focused on the television screen. Pajamas are all bunched up. Toes curl into the pant leg. Just like my toes around the bar stool.

Those pants are way too big for him. Astrid always bugs him about that. But he just rolls his eyes and shrugs it off. For some reason, I want to smile because I got him those pajama pants for Christmas last year and he wears them all the time. Even if they are too big.

Wow, I have way too many feels. Seriously, they're sickening. I'm going to rot my teeth if I keep thinking this way.

I go back to my ice cream. It isn't mint, but ice cream is ice cream. Tri-colored Neapolitan crusted with the ice that comes from too much time in the freezer. Crystals snap beneath the silver spoon. The apartment is silent. Little noises crack through it, seep inside. Static from a radio sitting on the countertop. Quiet voices from the TV. The typical movements of life, Hiccup's yawn, Astrid' sigh when she rests her head on the couch. I listen for everything. Because silence is too much. I've gotten used to it, though.

While time passes, I sit and think. Think about why I became a surgeon. Think about the time I died. Yeah, that's right. Died.

I died once. It was winter and it was cold. Two things that obviously go together. I know that now. Winter used to bring me warmth. A red fire scattering embers across the floor. The sun burning my face as I snowboard down the mountain. Winter was life. It erupted inside me like a volcano. I would smile and laugh as I spun my sister around. We twirled on the frozen pond.

The place where I died.

Ice cracks sometimes. It sucks, it really does. But that's life. I used to tell my sister that. It sounds harsh, I know, but it's true. The unfortunate reality. A messed up world, a truly messed up world that bangs up people and things. And after it bangs us up, it draws back into itself. Deep into the folds of the Earth, the papery thinness of the sky.

That describes the ice that day. Papery thin beneath my sister's skates. She was trembling, her voice was cracking. Cracking ice beneath her skates…

What was I supposed to do?

We played a game. Let's get off the ice before we drown. What a great game to play. I forced a smile, she tried to keep breathing. In and out. Keep breathing, sis. Don't look down. Look at me. Look at me. I'm here and I'm going to save you.

Because I love you.

I never said that. It was all inside my head. Thoughts swimming around my skull. Reality isn't there anymore. Broken ice, pale hands, none of this is real. Just my thoughts, the image of her falling into the water. Move like a marionette. String by string, leg by leg. I'm set on a course. A course I cannot change. So when I heard a sound like shattering glass, when I grabbed her hand and forced her behind me, I knew I was right on course.

Somehow, I knew.

Snowboarding is the same way. Flags ripple beside me. They slap my face as I fly pass. Flurries of snow in the air, in my hair. There are snowflakes on my lips. So tiny and intricate. Sometimes I marvel at them. At their uniqueness. They're like people. I've met so many different people in my life.

In my second life, too. Because I died once, when I fell through the ice. My sister reached for me.

"Jack!"

I did not answer. I fell into the winter and the cold. Two things that go hand in hand. I know that now.

That fact will be branded in my brain forever.

So like I said, I died once. I even got my name in the local paper. The headline was a little exaggerated, but I liked it:

Fourteen-year-old Boy Miraculously Revives After Drowning.

Kind of long, kind of misleading. I didn't actually drown. I'm alive now, aren't I? But I was pronounced dead for thirty seconds before my heart started beating again. It was a new title for me in high school, "The Boy Who Lived". Know-it-all kids would comment that I stole that from Harry Potter.

Whatever.

It was true. Coming back from the dead is a big deal. For a little while. People care, ask you questions, and wonder if you saw a bright light. Then they stop caring. One kid saves a cat from a burning house. Another starts dating the prettiest girl in school. They win. You lose.

And even when I did get attention, I felt cold.

When winter came, the warmth was gone.

Dying affected me in a strange way. For years, I felt like I had never woken up. Worlds change. They grow stiff and frozen beneath a paper sun. Everything turns grey. It's all etched in black crayon.

Leaning against the lockers, hands in my pocket.

I was alone. I was too cold to relate. People stopped talking to me.

Don't look at me, I'm invisible.

And no one did.

But that helped me, changed me again. Months with my head against the windowpane turned into months with my head in medical books. Because I kept thinking about the doctors that saved me. Who were they? No one ever told me.

And I wanted to be like them, whoever they were. They let me live again. If I could do that for others…

"Hey, Jack." Astrid's voice cracks my mind like skates on ice.

I swallow the lump of vanilla in my throat. "Hmm?"

"No more staring into space. We're having a party."

Hiccup groans and lets himself slide all the way down the couch. "I am not in the mood for a social gathering. It'll involve getting intoxicated and doing stupid things that we'll all regret in the morning."

"That's the best part." She picks up her iPhone. It has a skull-and-crossbones case. "I'm texting Merida. What are you laughing at, Jack?"

Crap. She saw. I'm hiding behind my spoon. Silver touching my teeth. "Nothing. I just think it's funny that our idea of a 'party' consists of us and Merida."

"You got any other friends?"

"Nope."

"My point exactly." She looks down at her phone. "Ok, she's coming."

Hiccup stands up and stretches. Cracks his neck, his knuckles. I notice that he winces slightly when he puts weight on his prosthetic. "When will she be here?"

Astrid shrugs. "She'll get here when she gets here. You know how Merida is."

"Fine. I'm gonna go change." He walks into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Astrid looks at me in that weird defensive way. As if to say 'you better not comment about Merida's punctuality'.

I just shrug back and start scooping up some strawberry. Merida is Merida. She wants to stay single forever and ride into the sunset on some painted horse. Freedom is her mantra. Time is measured by sunrises. She lives how she wants. So she'll get here when she gets here. Just like Astrid said.

She gives me another one of those looks. "By the way. Merida's bringing a friend. Don't hit on her."

Hmm. A friend. Interesting. "I am offended that you automatically assume I'll hit on her. Is she hot?"

Astrid laughs. "I don't know. Never seen her. She's a dentist."

I raise one eyebrow. "Ok...so are dentists typically hot or not?"

"How should I know? I haven't been to a dentist's office in years. But seriously, don't hit on her."

"Ok, ok. I'll try to turn off the charm." I don't get why she's so serious about this. Sure, I love women, but I'm not some playboy. Not yet.

Astrid rolls her eyes and goes back to the couch. There's no need for her to change. A mini-skirt and flannel shirt, she looks good.

And so we wait.

We wait.

Another carton of ice cream is tossed into the trash. Cold air conditioning slips through. Over white tile covered with black scuff marks. It's a simple apartment. Hardwood cabinets that Hiccup built himself line the kitchen walls. Ceilings are high so that the circular lights look like tiny suns. Yellow cones touching the countertop. There's one bedroom. Small and square with few pieces of furniture. Hiccup is pretty neat. He keeps the room clean. You'll find an easel in there, paint smeared all over the canvas. Ace bandages and boxing gloves are stuffed into a corner.

In the bathroom, there is a paper cup full of paint brushes and toothbrushes. I like the shower. It's slick and the water comes out burning hot. Sometimes it's freezing cold. Either way is fine with me. I've slept over in this apartment before. So I know how it works. I call this place the land of fire and ice.

Almost nine-thirty. We are still waiting. Hiccup is cutting off my ice cream supply and I'm poking him with my spoon. Astrid is falling asleep on the couch.

Hiccup smiles, leaning against the freezer door. "Look how adorable she is when she's sleeping."

"Ah yes, a perfect angel."

My comment gets me an eye roll and a tiny smirk. We sit at the bar and play paper football with a piece of college-ruled.

It's five past ten when Astrid buzzes them in. All forms of sleepiness fade away when she opens the door and sees Merida. A red frizzball with shining eyes hugs me.

"Jack! Good to see ya. I brought some Scottish liquor, so you better be ready." Peering through the red, I can see the glass bottle inside her purse.

"As ready as I'll ever be." I'm being smothered by her hair. There are curls in my mouth.

"Oh yeah, this is Ana."

Finally free, I see her. This must be the dentist. And she's hot. Really hot. Her skin is mocha coffee, her eyes violet. I notice the rainbow streaks in her bangs. Cute. Refractive glasses shatter the light. And I'm not supposed to hit on her? Fingers hold the hem of her yellow dress. Those fingers are itching to move, so is her tongue. I realize this after she starts talking and won't shut up. She pulls me into a hug and pulls at my lips with her fingers.

Ok, ok, what?

"Wow! Look at those teeth. They're beautiful." She jumps back, giggling. "Oh, sorry! Just got a little carried away. I am a dentist, after all." A little shrug. Shoulders brush the feathers earrings. "Like Merida said, I'm Ana. Nice to meet you. You can call me Tooth, if you like. It's a little nickname Merida gave me."

Merida's giving out nicknames now?

"Uh, hi, Tooth. I'm Jack." Awkward wave of my spoon. Attempting that "smolder" look the hospital janitor showed me one afternoon.

Now that I think about it, why is that guy even a janitor? I mean, he's a pretty attractive dude and the janitorial business doesn't seem to suit him. And I don't even know his name…I've seen him quite a bit since I came here and I don't even know the guy's name…

Merida's laugh catches my attention. Red curls falling into her open mouth. "He's quite the charmer, isn't he, Ana?" She waves a hand in front of my face. "What're ya looking at, Jack?"

"Anywhere but you, princess." I grin and tap the spoon against her forehead. She keeps laughing. It's like she's already drunk.

"Like I said, a charmer! Now let's get this bottle open! It'll be pure dead brilliant!"

Hiccup whispers in my ear. "The Scottish phrases are starting. Imagine what she'll be like after she's drunk."

"We'll hardly be able to understand her." I flick the paper football one last time. A perfect shot.

A perfect prediction, too.

* * *

Somewhere around one thirty-five AM, Merida stops making sense. She lies down on the coffee table and says, "Ma heid's mince!"

This night has been long and short. A tape measurer constantly moving back and forth. It started with the removing of the black seal. Astrid's fingernails punctured it and the contents fizzed. Then a cork was popped, a cap was removed. And with each popping and clanking of glass, I fell away from my reality. It's amazing how we compartmentalize things. The events at the hospital faded into nothing as we sang and danced around the apartment.

A twinge of guilt passed painfully. But it fled in a moment, chased away by Hiccup's warm laughter and Astrid's quick punches. I let myself go. We ran into the night.

So now it is one forty-two AM and I'm singing into a microphone with Hiccup. Tooth brought her karaoke machine as a way to break the ice. And yes, the ice is now broken. Smashed into a million bits. I'm tipsy, I can feel it. How else do you explain my cheek pressed against Hiccup's? We sing Pink's "Just Give Me A Reason", taking turns and falling dramatically to our knees. He sings the girl part, I sing the guy part. Astrid is shaking with hysteria.

Turn to Hiccup. Flip my hair, attempt the "smolder" one last time. "_I'm sorry I don't understand where all of this is coming from. I thought that we were fine."_

_"Oh, we had everything." _Hiccup closes his eyes and reaches toward me.

The song keeps going.

Merida is still lying on the coffee table. Scotts can hold their liquor, yeah right. Curls spill across the glass. Legs scissoring the potted orchid that is always there, teetering on the edge. Tooth rolls on top of her. Glasses slip off the bridge of her nose and hit Merida in the face. Through mist and haze, I see them giggling and holding hands. My eyes look sideways at it, at this strange anomaly. Merida is not one to show affection. But now…

Roll my head on my neck. Feel the bones crack. Watching them is so…entrancing. The microphone almost rolls out of my hand. Rounded fingernails comb through Merida's thick hair. I hear whispering and a drunken giggle that comes from all over.

The song is still playing. Hiccup falls against me, putting his arm around my shoulders. Turn back to the screen, forgetting all about Merida and Tooth.

_"You're holding it in!"_

_"You're pouring a drink!"_

We sing together, spinning in circles. _"No nothing is as bad as it seems. We'll come clean!"_

Astrid starts clapping behind us. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

We stop and stare at each other. Hiccup loses that intoxicated gleam in his eyes. "Uhh…I'm not that drunk."

"Yeah, me either." I laugh, take a step back, and collapse into an armchair.

Hiccup takes another track. "Harder Better Faster Stronger" by Daft Punk. Astrid comes up behind him and sings over his shoulder. Low words whispered into the darkness. I hear it. Mumbling from both pairs, like insects at night. Atoms rubbing against each other. Skin sweating as heat envelops the room. Fogs full of alcohol and tension. I'm alone in the chair. Every word sinks into my bones.

_"Work it harder. Make it better. Do it faster. Makes us stronger."_

Inside my head, I imagine an AMV. Eyes half-closed, watching Hiccup and Astrid grind against each other to the beat of Daft Punk. My AMV is full of color. Wishes painted by pinpricked fingers. Brushes in the paper cup by the sink. So many colors.

I wish I could tell Hiccup that I'm still green for him. Telling him that he's the roots in my life. Wrapping my arms around him and finally feeling grounded. Because he reaches for the sky with one hand and reaches for the Earth with the other.

I wish I could tell Merida that I'm still orange for her. Telling her that she makes me feel alive. Burying my face in that red hair and remembering that I'm alive. Because she runs into the sunset and reminds me that society isn't always right.

And I'm still red for Astrid. I see red whenever I'm around her. Anger, excitement, understanding. One time, it might have been lust.

How do I feel about Tooth? I hardly know her. Maybe hot pink or yellow.

I'm falling asleep. Reclining in a low white chair that seems quite out of place in the darkened room. Why it is so dark is beyond me. Oh yeah, it's night. The darkness is irritating, but at the same time it also allows me to see the stars. I look out the window, an empty glass turning between my fingers. All curled up with my head in my hands, I watch my friends.

Black microphone hits the floor. Blonde hair brushes brown. White skin. Mocha skin. They mix like coffee. Sweet milk and sugar melting into the richness of the grinds. Grinding on tight jeans. Astrid's lips trailing up Hiccup's neck. Tooth's glasses trapped between Merida's fingers. All of them come together. Each movement a part of a greater picture. Separate frames clicking by. Who's who? What's what? A splayed hand in a back pocket. Tangled tongues. Flaring nostrils. Someone pulls on a V-neck, stretching the fabric with chipped fingernails. Someone plants kisses on a bare stomach. Green for you, green for me. Potted orchids fall off the coffee table and break. Seeing red. Feeling orange and alive. Confused over the mix of hot pink and yellow.

Alcohol makes them all brighter. And in the dark, they all look like paintings come to life. I've never been one to like art, but when I'm drunk, I see it. They're all soft and beautiful. Hard and jagged. All of them, a painting. Grass, long orange grass brushes their feet and sways in the breeze. Where are they? Pinned to a wall in a museum perhaps. No longer in a room, but on a hill covered with brushstrokes. The sound of bodies twisting and bending under the stress of movement. Eyes rolling and eyelids fluttering. Many feet from them, there is a tree. So green. And the sun is a bright yellow. The sky, a hot pink. Red flames touch the grass.

My drunken mind is good at this. What a surprise.

Astrid and Hiccup are on the floor. Daft Punk is on an endless loop. The song fits well. I watch them and secretly wish I could hide inside the refrigerator.

Because it's too hot. I settle into the white pleather and think about ice cubes.

After hours of singing and trying to drink from empty bottles, I finally fall asleep in the white armchair. Feels like someone is kissing my forehead and whispering into my ear.

"Good night, Jack…"

Sounds like my sister's voice, or some other little girl. This can't be right.

"Good night, Jack. Thanks for trying."

You're welcome, unknown voice. But I don't deserve it. I don't really deserve anything.

I'm not having any dreams. Cracked and crumbling inside my head. Just swirling colors. Green, orange and red. Folds of silence wrap around my skull. Nothing, nothing. And then I'm awake. My eyes snap open and I'm alone in a room painted black. The sun is a quarter of the way up the sky. Blink a couple times. The room is spinning.

I sit a while and think. There's not much to think about in a room full of silence. Nothing but the fan spinning overhead. Dirt is piled on the floor. White orchid petals tucked beneath the shades of brown. Sense the movements of life. A spasm up someone's spine. A twitch of the toe or smack of the lips. People are around me. I feel their presence. Like I'm in a cardboard box in the middle of a crowd. Being kicked and prodded by voices and sounds. No one sees me, but I know they're there. And I don't feel like seeing them right now. Instead, I can retreat into my own head. Thoughts live there. Roaming through the maze of my brain. I bet it's one hell of a maze.

A weird thought surfaces. The unopened letter on the desk in my apartment. White envelope, black writing. The print is neat cursive. I know who it's from. Yesterday morning, I woke up early and checked my mailbox. It is always quiet when I retrieve my mail on Friday. A dark cloud seems to shadow me, the slow turn of my key even slower than usual. No one is watching, but I'm still nervous. A stack of letters was piled before me. One bill, some medical magazine, a Forever 21 catalogue—which I only have because Hiccup signed me up for it as a joke and wrote "Jackie Overland" as my name—and a bunch of ads. And then I saw it. No surprise, it's there every Friday. A letter from him. From Pitch.

If I told my friends, their reactions would be as follows: Astrid would think it's stupid that I write to him. Hiccup would just roll his eyes, but secretly be worried. Merida would be very outspoken and yell at me to stop.

But none of them know. This is my secret.

Pitch is a friend. An old friend that I've known for quite some time. Now he's in jail. I write to him and every Friday his response comes. He has never missed a week. If he ever forgot, I don't know how I'd feel. So I communicate with a convict, big deal. I wouldn't keep it so secret if it wasn't for one thing. The reason why he is in jail.

Because I was there when he was arrested. I was there, lying on the bathroom floor, bleeding all over the tile. He regrets it, I know he does. After all, he did drop the knife and call 911himself. He turned himself in and cried when they sentenced him.

That whole situation, that is something I have never told anyone. Memories swim beneath my skull. But I can't think about that right now. The envelope does not matter. I'll read it later, or maybe I'll cut it up and throw it in the toilet. No I won't. Who am I kidding? I will never throw his letters away. Still, right now is not the time. I need some fresh air.

I get out of the chair, blinking and feeling my way around. Astrid and Hiccup are gone. A black bra is hanging on the bedroom doorknob. Merida and Tooth are curled up on the couch. Both of them breathe deeply.

Outside, the wind is blowing. The plants on the balcony shiver, a leaf falls to the ground. I lean over the railing. Asphalt is black below. In the ocean of suburbia, it rocks and heaves as people run all over it. Hurt it. Violate it. And I think about the time when I died and how the water ran over me. Just like those people did to the road. Just like that car did to the little girl.

There it is. It's back. Run my hands down my face, pulling at the skin under my eyes. I feel something in my stomach, too much ice cream and alcohol. Hiccup would kill me if I puked all over his balcony. But I'll be all right. Because the feeling is going away, replaced by another. Is someone watching me?

For some reason, that feeling has always excited me. Knowing that someone can see me, hear me, feel me. There are eyes fastened to my location. Somewhere below the balcony, someone is watching. I know it.

Somewhere down there.

Someone curious.

Something strange.

Somehow I know and I look over the railing and see her there. A girl walking up to the apartment complex on a Saturday morning. Her hair is golden thread that weaves through her arms and fingers. Into the opening in her purse, into the shopping bag she holds. The bag is full of vegetables. She's looking up at me with wide green eyes. Curiosity, fear, wonder? I can't tell. Light throws her shadow across the sidewalk. Draping the parked cars and concrete curbs in deep black.

Hiccup's apartment is only on the second floor. She should be able to hear me.

I smile. "Hey! Do you need something?"

"Uh, yeah, actually I do." She smiles back. Notice the spattering of freckles on her cheeks. Cute. "I just moved in here and, it's so embarrassing, but I locked myself out of my apartment. I didn't want to bother anyone since it's so early, so I just came outside and there you were up on the balcony." She laughs. "Great timing."

She just moved in? Why didn't Hiccup say anything? She's gorgeous!

I throw my hands up. "Hey, it happens to us all. So, I'll just come down and give you a hand then."

"Really?" Her eyes light up. "That's so kind of you. Thank you so much."

"No problem, Blondie."

Ok, maybe that last word was unnecessary. I'm still a little drunk, so cut me some slack. The girl just laughs, her eyebrows slightly raised.

Now let me just say this, my luck has never been good.

So when I lean a little too far over the railing just to better see her face, I'm almost expecting it. I'm on the right course. And the right course is this:

Falling over the balcony.

I think I hear her screaming, and then I hit an awning.


	2. Treatment Stage 1: Remove Wet Clothes

**A/N: Hey, guys. Sorry this took me so long! I went on a mini-vacation to Universal and I've been busy with summer classes and planning for my trip to the UK. So I sincerely apologize for the delay.**

**Anyways, this chapter was a lot of fun for me to write. It was even more fun knowing how much you all loved the first chapter. Seriously, thank you so much for all of the kind and really awesome reviews! Long reviews make me so happy ^^. The fact that you guys actually take the time to read this really makes me speechless. I am so grateful.**

**So, in this chapter you will find quite a few things. A fall from a two-story apartment building (that may or may not defy physics, idk. Just look at it like a fall in a movie xD. Maybe he should have more injuries, but just go with it haha. It's like an anime where people are flung lightyears away and then they hit a solid wall made of titanium and somehow survive without a scractch? Ok, it's not that extreme, but you get the point. Just roll with it.) You'll also find an AU inside AU (yes I seriously did an AU inception), some hardcore HiJack bromance, and a bunch of other craziness. Ugh, sorry for the overly long author's notes. I'm so chatty tonight. After all, it is 2:40 am! xD.**

**Music I listened to to get me through this chapter: Passion Pit, Ellie Goulding, Marina and the Diamonds**

**Enjoy and please review :). **

* * *

Listen up, I'm a doctor. A damn fine doctor. So I know what happens when people fall. Broken bones and cuts up and down their face. So many pinholes in pieces of white skin. They end up looking like a kindergartener's art project. I've never been good with scissors. My teachers instructed me through clenched teeth. Hold it like this, Jack. Not like that. But I wouldn't listen. I still won't listen when Hiccup tells me to hold the scissors straight. Blades swerve and then I'm on the highway of paper and glue sticks. Cutting is so much fun. Then I reach the end of the line and there's nothing left.

Nothing but rainbow ribbons. Ribbons of muscle and bone. It's funny, I'm a surgeon that can't use scissors. I can perform a perfect surgery, but when it comes to cutting along the dotted line…

Lines. I see them as I fall. They are red and white. In a split second, vertical stripes are smeared across my vision. Really, an awning with red and white vertical stripes? Could this get any more cliché? I mean, who has those types of awnings anymore? This isn't some cute little café on the corner of Main Street. But what if it was?

So many questions. Letters scramble in my brain. Falling takes forever. My head makes up stories.

There it is, tucked into the corner of Main Street. My little café. Potted plants sit beneath the windowpanes. Water drips down the awning and into black dirt. It just stopped raining. You know this because of all the umbrellas hanging off wrists. All closed up. People walk in and out of the little glass door. Rain boots squeak, puddles of water on the hardwood. Inside, people are drinking coffee, typing on laptops. People doing typical hipster, café-esque things.

And in the corner of my cute café, Hiccup is leaning against the rain-streaked window. He's in the corner of the corner. Sitting in the corner of the café on the corner of Main Street. Typical Hiccup. He has to turn everything into Inception. Impatient fingers drum the table. He's wearing those ridiculous hipster glasses and scrolling through a website. Probably his tumblr page. Oh come on, I know he has one. Astrid conveniently left it open for me one night. So yeah, I know who the URL "sexy-amputee" belongs to. His blog name is hilarious: "Don't call me a murse". Like anyone really uses that name for a male nurse. Do they?

Merida just calls him Hiccup. Astrid calls him her hot nurse boyfriend. I call him a pain in my ass. A cynical, sassy, sexy pain in my ass. His father calls him a disgrace to the family.

Sometimes I want to beat his father with a baseball bat.

But not today. Not right now. Because I am sipping a latte in my imaginary café. Hiccup is on tumblr. Astrid is pouring hot chocolate over a misogynist that just slapped her ass. I see Merida behind the counter. She's the barista. Perfect. There's Tooth on a bar stool. Spinning and spinning. An orchid falls off the counter and breaks. Pieces of pottery go flying. Bits of clay between the shades of soil. This is starting to look familiar.

Cracked ceramic on the floor. It's painted green, orange, red, and hot pink. Maybe there's some yellow in there, too. Yellow hair curling around open palms. A face spattered with freckles…a kind smile…and eyes filled with wonder…

What the hell is this? Instead of my life flashing before my eyes, I get a glimpse into some alternate café universe? I am getting really tired of all these question marks clogging up my brain. They're starting to spill out my ears.

Now I remember what's happening. In reality, I am falling from Hiccup's balcony. Just my luck. A fall from a two story building only lasts a few seconds. Have to land on my feet. My feet! Repositioning my body shouldn't be too hard. Okay, the awning repositioned my body for me. Now bend your knees. Roll after impact. Protect your head. In my mind, all of this happens in slow motion.

In reality, I execute a crappy front flip, strike the awning, and land in the bushes. I roll forward, my hands cupped behind my head. Simple enough. Easy as pie, easy as Hiccup after he's had a few drinks, easy as sliding my—

I'm interrupted by darkness. Warm and thick. It hugs me and won't let go. Please, please, please, let go! Darkness is hot. Heavy hands holding me down. I think of the time Pitch was arrested. I felt hot and heavy when he stabbed me. But that was an accident. This is an accident, too. Or maybe I wanted to fall?

I don't know. Whatever. I just need to rest now. Sleep and dream about the darkness. Back at my apartment, I curl up in the cold sheets. Alone. Just like I do every night. When I fall asleep, my arm draped over the side of the bed, the darkness reaches up and grabs my hand.

Counting is hard when you're unconscious. I'm not sure how long I've been asleep. My eyes snap open. I gasp. Lungs are deflated balloons inside my chest. Where am I? There are green leaves all around me. The bushes at the bottom of the apartment building. Oh yeah, I fell. Clutching a fistful of dirt, I try to stand. Wow. That really hurt. The pain is barely tangible. It's slow. Prickling in my arms and legs. Someone is stabbing me with hypodermic needles. It's fast. Pain slipping through my veins.

The wall is rough. I close my hands against it. Holy crap, that fall was just…wow. I guess the awning broke my fall. Landing on my feet really worked. Bones shake inside my ankles. Take a deep breath and hope for the best.

I lean against the wall for what feels like forever. Breathing hard and trying not to pass out again. Blood drips down my face. It's sticky, kind of sweet. All at once, I realize how hungry I am and how much that hurt and I want to cry again.

This is just great. A perfect end to a perfect week. My ankle feels broken and patches of skin start to burn. Turning purple beneath my ripped clothing. For some odd reason, the prevailing feeling is hunger. Seriously. I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks. Blood is sticky sweet but it's not enough. So hungry…

Someone puts a grape tomato in my mouth.

Taste it on my tongue. Sticky sweet. I don't really like vegetables. My dad used to tease me about that. He'd stick steamed carrots on a fork and dangle them in front of my face. Then I would stick out my tongue and he'd laugh.

I try to laugh. Smiling around the tomato is hard.

My old man was a real jokester.

There was that one time in tenth grade when I thought I knocked up my high school girlfriend. She was a pretty girl. Kind of oblivious, the type to trip over her own feet. But she was beautiful. She called me at two am. All snot-nosed and puffy-eyed. I could almost hear the tears dripping down the receiver. She cried and tapped the stick against phone.

"It says positive, Jack! Positive!"

"Ok, hold on! I'll be right over!"

Sneaking out was easy. The window creaked when I opened it. Air hot and heavy, like darkness and blood. She lived in my neighborhood, so I ran to her house and threw rocks at her bedroom window. It was a tough climb. Scaling the massive oak tree in my bare feet. She slept on the second floor. Balancing on a branch, I threw pebbles at the glass. Trying to be like Romeo.

"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun."

That's right, I can be romantic. And my deep dark secret is hidden beneath piles of Shakespeare plays. Days in the hospital allowed me to read nonstop. Heavy head falling into act one, scene two of Hamlet.

My girlfriend opened the window. I climbed in and hugged her half to death.

I'm so sorry…it's all right. That is what I wanted to say. But I didn't.

A few minutes of silence. Fingers gripped my shirt. I looked at the stick and started laughing. She read it wrong. She wasn't pregnant. We kissed. I laughed again and she punched me in the shoulder. What a night.

My father caught me sneaking back into the house. He pulled the truth out of me. Then he laughed. Dad never let me live that down. From that day on, he introduced me as "his son who almost knocked up this pretty girl next door". Thanks, Dad.

"Dad? I'm pretty sure I'm not your dad."

Wait, what? A voice breaks my train of thought. Sends it off the rails. Someone is talking to me. The same person that pushed the grape tomato into my mouth.

I hear it again. "Hey, are you ok? Come on, look at me. Your eyes are open, but you can't see me, I guess? Helllloooo. Look at me."

Geez, she talks a lot. She…yeah, it's a girl. The light voice, liquid sunlight poured into my ears. There's a slight lisp. But it's cute, really cute. Memories flash. There was a girl below the balcony. Her hair was golden thread that weaved through her arms and fingers. Into the opening in her purse, into the shopping bag she held. The bag was full of vegetables. She looked up at me with wide green eyes.

And then I fell.

And now I'm here.

And the person talking to me is that girl.

My vision clears. The gorgeous girl that locked herself out of her apartment stands before me. I'm halfway down the wall. Knees bent awkwardly.

"Hey…hey, you're ok. Everything's gonna be ok." Nothing but green eyes and a smile. Her voice makes me tired.

I manage a small smile. The tomato falls out of my mouth. Lands just between my toes. I'm barefoot. That's…weird. But looking at the girl, I realize that she's barefoot, too.

My throat is scratchy. "No…shoes."

She laughs. "Oh, yeah! It's like we're twins." A nose brushes mine. She's close enough for the freckles to jump off her cheeks. Maybe they'll land on mine. "But you're ok, right? Should I call 911?"

"No…I'm fine. Just a little banged up." I blink and move my nose against hers. "Wow, you're pretty, blondie."

Another laugh. The pale cheeks turn pink. "All right, Casanova, you need to lie down or something. Here, let me help you up."

"No, no, I'm supposed to help you. You're locked out, remember?" I slowly shake my head. The tomato rolls beneath my toes. "Oh yeah, why'd you put a…a tomato in my mouth?"

Blondie shrugs. "You said you were hungry."

"I did?"

"Yeah. You've been mumbling to yourself for quite a while. Now that I think about it, you were half-conscious so what you said probably has no meaning whatsoever. But it was a good tomato, wasn't it?"

Her positivity is funny. It makes me want to laugh. But everything hurts right now, so I'll refrain. "Didn't really eat it, so I couldn't tell you. But it feels nice. Soft and smooth."

Before I can stop myself, I've got my fingers on hers. Aligning our pinkies. Her face turns red.

"Uh, why don't I help you inside? I mean, it's my fault that you fell." Awkward giggle. She twirls a strand of hair. Those fingers have my DNA on the surface. I hope my cells are scattered throughout those golden locks.

"You didn't push me. But I'll take you up on that offer." I raise my hand. A small part of me is afraid that she won't reach back. But she does.

Those soft fingers grab my hand and pull me to my feet. Now I have pieces of her on my skin. I'll never wash this hand again. She tugs me along. Out of the bushes, onto the grass. It's stiff and wet. Her toes curl around the blades.

Is that a smile on her face? A brief second of stillness, fingers gripping my wrist as her lips curve into a grin. Like she wants to stand out here forever. Those toes finally let go of the grass. We walk slowly. My ankle isn't broken, but it must be sprained. I limp beside her. She talks quickly.

She fills out an invisible questionnaire. No one gives her questions. She answers them all on her own. I'm not interviewing her, but she keeps talking anyways.

I learn a few things about her. Her name is Rapunzel. A strange name in my opinion. Straight out of a fairytale. I've always wanted to believe in fairytales. To sit in an old library, reading books with yellowed pages. But I'm a surgeon. I can't believe in miracles.

Rapunzel won't tell me her last name. That's all right. I don't tell her my last name, either. There is this unspoken enigma between us. We don't even know each other. She keeps her distance, a few feet in front of me at all times. I wish Hiccup was here to analyze her body language. He's good at that stuff. Every so often, he takes over Astrid's Netflix account and watches BBC's Sherlock. So now he's an "expert" when it comes to reading people. Whenever I fold my hands behind my head, he accuses me of acting superior. Stupid Hiccup. I'm no Sherlock, but Rapunzel looks nervous. Holding fast to her bag as she goes up the stairs.

She stops at the top. "You still feeling all right? You're moving kinda slow."

"I did fall two stories."

Nervous laugh. "Yeah, I saw."

I lean against the rail and give her this look. A what-the-hell-are-you-hiding look. The complete change in attitude is making _me _nervous. And I never get nervous…seriously, I don't. So when her lips curve into this crooked smile that's about to fall off her face, I know something is up. I think I scare her.

"What's up with you, blondie?"

She's against the wall, holding the bag between her legs. "What do you mean?"

I watch the bag. "You look nervous, that's all. Five minutes ago, you were all cheerful and now you're…scared?"

This time, Rapunzel's laugh is easily confused with shattering glass. "Scared? No, I am definitely not scared of you. I have a frying pan in my purse." Before I can comprehend, she keeps going. "I just hear Taylor Swift's 'I Knew You Were Trouble' resounding in my ears."

This is some kind of cautious flirting. Has to be. Her body leaning against the wall, hourglass-shaped and occasionally shifting. Because the wind is strong and the staircase is outside. Thin plastic is wrapped around thin wrists. She fingers the plastic and fingers the….holy crap, my mind is always in the gutter.

I take a deep breath. "Seriously, Rapunzel. Am I making you uncomfortable? I'm getting this vibe from you."

And it's freaking me out because no one ever feels nervous around me, because no one ever knows I'm there. I don't say this last part. But I think it. Words tumbling around inside my skull.

"I'm sorry. I'm just…" She sighs. "Look, I'm not really supposed to be here."

"Did you forget to pay rent? Anger the bitchy landlord?"

"No…" Wow, she looks adorable when she bites her lip. "I paid my rent. Actually, I paid my rent for the next three months."

Now this is confusing. "Why would you do that?"

Rapunzel sighs again. "Ok, just sit down. This is going to take a while. And it would be really great if you could listen to my story. I haven't talked to anyone in a long time."

"Uh, sure." I sit down on the top step. Hear the rough sound of cotton sliding down the wall. Her skirt is long and pink. Brushing her knees, tucked between her thighs. Her sweatshirt is pink, too. Looks so soft, I want to climb inside.

Green eyes are large behind shaking hands. She pulls the sleeves over her fingertips and starts her story. Like the old Alice in Wonderland quote, "Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop". Told you I was a literary.

Her voice is soft. "So, like I said before, my name is Rapunzel. Can't tell you my last name, sorry. It's just a personal thing. My last name reminds me of my mother. So I leave it out. Anyways, I guess you could call me a runaway. I know, it sounds stupid, since I'm an adult and everything, but it's true. I promise." A small smile, gaze fixed on the concrete. Teeth tug at the pink sleeve. "Back home, I was like a hostage. No wait, not a hostage. I mean, my mother isn't a monster. She just didn't let me…I didn't let myself leave the house. Time goes by so slowly when you're alone. Sometimes, it goes by fast. I threw my calendars away, because it didn't even matter. And I was so lonely, so I—I'm sorry." Green eyes are full of tears. She wipes them away. Trying to laugh, droplets on her lips.

I'm there before I can stop myself. Bare soles shuffle across the ground. Our toes are almost touching. "Don't apologize. Come on, put a smile on. Like they say at McDonald's."

She sniffs. "I've never eaten at McDonalds. I just see the commercials. They change slogans a lot."

"We'll have to go, then. Get you a Happy Meal."

I go to grab her hand. Gentle approach. I remember Hiccup's words. When I asked him why he took in Toothless, he turned away from me. It's just a cat. But it means so much more. "I looked at him, and I saw myself. That's why I brought him home, Jack."

Now I am looking at Rapunzel and I understand what Hiccup meant. She is just as alone as I am. My fingers wrap around hers. Hesitant at first, just like her. And then she latches on and falls against my chest. Blonde pieces in my eyes. There is so much hair falling across my shoulders. Her body, her face. Enveloped by gold, we sit on the stairs in silence.

Tears soak through my scrubs. I'm still wearing them. Rounded fingernails grip the fabric. Slowly, I feel her start to relax.

Her voice comes from beneath the pile of hair. "W-What kind of a doctor are you?"

"So you finally noticed the scrubs."

She shrugs. "Kinda hard not to notice. So are you a doctor or are you playing dress-up?"

Playing dress-up? Oh my God, she thinks I'm gay. Sure, Hiccup and I roughhouse and I do some things around him that might be interpreted as flirting, but I'm totally straight. Totally. Great, now my inner voice is talking like a valley girl.

I pull her off my chest and look straight into those green eyes. "Listen, sweetheart, I do not play dress-up. I know what you're thinking. 'Wow, look at this guy. He's so attractive; women and men must run after him.' But, unfortunately for all of the gay men out there, I am a sexy, straight surgeon."

It's silent for a second. Rapunzel raises her eyebrows. She rolls her eyes in that Hiccup way. Starts pulling at her hair in the signature Merida fashion. And her lips curve like Astrid's. Probably because I just came off as a male chauvinist pig. What is she, a mix of all my friends?

"A sexy, straight surgeon? Did your fall make you like this, or are you always this cocky?"

Cock. She said cock. I feel a smile coming on. A section of my brain is lighting up. The section fluent in sexual innuendoes.

Attempt that "smolder" again. The one the janitor taught me. "Well, speaking of cocks—"

Wait, what's with that face she's making?

Her face instantly reddens. But it's different. Not the shy blush of a schoolgirl, but the angry red of a slapped face. A pinched cheek, a bloody bruise. Her eyes are wide with…terror? I struck a nerve. Something deep inside. Strings all tied up inside a piano. All I did was say a little joke, but now I'm regretting it. Regretting it more than anything. Because the look on her face is one of pain. Fear twisted into knots. Maybe it recalls a memory? I had a patient once, a delirious young woman who was beaten to a pulp by her husband. She took one look at me and screamed. Apparently, my eyes were like his. She kept yelling, "His eyes, his eyes! My God, his eyes!" They gave her to a female doctor. Her face is Rapunzel's face. My one comment makes her cringe for some unknown reason. I am so stupid.

She starts backing away. "Okay, t-that's enough for me. I…I can't believe I cried and let you…" She shakes her head. "Look, I have to go. I'm sorry you fell, but I don't know you and I'm scared enough already. So I'll go get the landlord for you, but that's it. I'll be leaving now."

Wait. Don't leave. I'm tired and my ankle hurts and to be honest I feel like I'm going to puke all over you and I want you to stay. Please stay. I'm sorry.

None of this comes out. All I do is reach for her arm. "Rapunzel…I was just kidding."

"That's what they all say."

There aren't any words. It's all blank. Hiccup rolls his pencil across empty pages. Merida stares at an empty target, angry with herself. Because she's missed every shot. I've seen those two at their worst. But it took time. Astrid punches empty walls and screams. It took even longer to see her hit the bottom. When it's dark and you're alone, you whisper things into your pillow. I know what my friends whisper into their pillows. But it took time. Lots and lots of time to reach that point. And now there's this girl. A stranger to me. I guess she's a runaway; her mother was some kind of warden. Facts are unchecked. Truth unknown.

And yet, I think I am seeing her at her worst. This isn't how things are supposed to work. Then again, I am a doctor. My job is to defy the natural. Keep dead hearts beating. Reconnect the broken, mend the torn. Nature tells me this is wrong. I shouldn't be seeing her like this. Nature tells people many things.

It tells Hiccup what kind of person he should be.

It tells Merida how to dress and who to love.

It tells Astrid what she shouldn't be able to do.

It whispers to me, too. Tells me that I can't get close to people. Remaining invisible is the right thing to do. Don't get involved. Too late, I am already involved. One hundred percent. I can be Rapunzel's friend. Give her a shoulder to cry on. No matter how strange and cold it is. Just watch me.

Taking a deep breath, I lie spread-eagled on the ground. Face buried in the concrete. "Look at me, Rapunzel. I am completely at your mercy. Take out that frying pan, beat me to death. I won't care."

"W-What are you doing?"

"Giving you control. I don't know you, but I'm guessing that isn't something you've had a lot of. So, do whatever you want. Kick me, punch me, call the cops. I don't care."

Hear her back into the wall. That was loud. I hope she isn't hurt. She gasps. "Why are you doing this?!"

"I don't know!" Seriously, I don't. "I'm just trying to say I'm sorry!"

"But this is so extreme!"

"I'm an extreme person!" We're both yelling now. I'm inhaling dust down here. "Now do what you want, Rapunzel! You're in charge here! I'm just some jerky guy that made a stupid comment!"

"What I want…"

Each word is stretched out. Dragged across the space between us. I turn my head. Her toes are there. Curling and uncurling in the dust. Newborn flowers do the same thing. She stands for a little while. Nothing but silence. It's still early. Hiccup's apartment is probably still full of sleeping bodies.

The longest minute of my life occurred yesterday. Walking down the long white hall. This minute is a close second. Watching her toes is soothing. Calloused and pink, they bend into each other. Pinky toe wearing a gold ring, a tiny sun etched on the surface. She is so close to me. Then she kneels. I try really hard not to see up her skirt. So I close my eyes.

She laughs hollowly when I do so. The kind of laugh that comes after a thunderstorm. You go out, carrying a metal umbrella. Maybe you're leaving my corner café. You're calm. Umbrella raised over your head. Lightening scars the clouds. The sky likes to harm itself. Walking back to your car, you look composed. White streaks light the entire city. Flash bangs thrown over your head. When you get to your car, you slam the door shut and throw the umbrella into the back. You survived. Walking with a metal umbrella was stupid and you were scared as shit, but you lived. So you laugh. Just like Rapunzel.

Fingernails are soft on my cheek. "What I want is for you to be genuine."

Keep my eyes shut. "So I'm genuine because I didn't look?"

"No. You're genuine because you saw me when I needed it most. You don't even know me and you told me to take control. No one's ever told me that before." She opens my eyes. Her face is drenched with tears. Sitting in her car, she realizes that she survived. Almost getting hit by lightning has that effect on people.

I laugh back at her. "Every chick deserves control. That's what my friend, Astrid, says. Except she doesn't say 'chick'. You know, it's demeaning to the matriarchy."

"You sound like a tumblr user."

"Trust me, I'm not. But my other friend is. You guys should chat." I sigh and roll onto my back. Geez, I could just fall asleep right here. I'm so tired and the pain is starting to settle in. "I'm guessing you had a lot of time to go on tumblr. That's why you ran away."

Fall back on her heels, tucking the skirt between her legs. Strands of blonde fall into her face. "Yes, I ran away because I had too much free time to go on tumblr."

She's sarcastic just like Hiccup.

"You don't have to explain. Seriously, just help me up the stairs and I'll never ask you about it again." My knuckles crack as I sit up. "And I'll never make any douchebag comments again."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I fully intend to keep my promise. Rapunzel keeps hers. Our fingers barely touch. She leads me up the stairs. One step at a time. We reach the hallway. Knowing that it isn't long and white makes me happy.

She won't let me hold the door open for her. Her eyes survey the corridor. A bunch of black doors line the walls. There is a fire extinguisher in a glass case. Not much else.

"You live on this floor?"

"Technically, no. My friend lives here. I just visit often."

All at once, I remember why I fell off the balcony in the first place. "Oh yeah, shouldn't we go up to your apartment first? You're locked out."

Rapunzel shakes her head. "No, no, it's fine. I'll just wake the landlord. That's what I should have done in the first place."

"But then you wouldn't have met me." My smile is kinder this time. Gentle approach. She's just like Toothless. Green eyes and all.

She allows herself a brief moment of happiness. I see it on her face. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

We're at the door before I can even blink. Give it a knock, wait a nanosecond and then knock again. I hope I am really annoying Hiccup right now. I scream into the door. "Hey, did someone order a male stripper? I'm here for a Hiccup Haddock the Third?"

Rapunzel giggles behind me. But then her laughter fades. She's biting her lip again, eyes shifting back and forth. What is with her?

"You nervous about meeting my friends?"

"No…I just thought I should tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Why I flipped out on the stairs. Cause I'm really sorry about it. Really, I am." She twirls her hair with one finger, clutches the bag with the others. It's like she's paranoid or something. Always looking for the exit.

"You don't have to explain. That's in the past." I've learned not to dwell on the past. Because time moves so slowly for me, I'm already stuck there for a longer period of time than most people. I still hold on to Pitch, though. And to the patients I have lost.

Rapunzel shakes her head. "I know, but you deserve to know. You've been so kind to me. Heck, you fell off a balcony trying to help me."

I turn away from the door. Thankfully, there is no sound of movement from inside. Lazy Hiccup. He's probably wrapped around Astrid right now. Asleep and dreaming about dragons.

"All right. Shoot."

Her shoulders shake when she breathes. "Ok. It's just, what you said. That line. It reminded me of someone. That's what my mother's boyfriend used to say to me. That was his cue, if you would. A seemingly silly remark, but I knew what came after it. That's why you scared me." She stares at me for what feels like forever. Once again, I cannot speak. She bows her head. "So yeah, I just thought you should know. It wasn't your fault. You were just joking. But it meant something more to me. How could you have known? I'm sorry."

Before I can answer, the door opens. I turn away from Rapunzel for a split second and she seems to disappear. Hiccup stands on the threshold. Toes half on the tile, half on the carpet.

"Jack? Your yelling woke me up, but I didn't think…" He looks me up and down. "Look at you! You're bleeding. Did something happen?"

I'm still dazed. Rapunzel's words hit me hard. I'm looking around, but she's gone. When did she walk away? When the door opened? Before it opened?

"Jack! Did something happen?"

Hiccup's voice makes me flinch. I look at him, feeling that creeping sensation in my legs. Pinpricks burning on my fingertips.

"Answer me, Jack! Did. Something. Happen?"

"No shit, Sherlock." And then I collapse into his arms.

* * *

Falling unconscious twice in one day really sucks. Falling off a balcony really sucks, too. My luck has never been good. I see Pitch in my dreams, sitting behind a witness stand, sitting behind a sheet of glass. The phone is heavy in my hands. Black plastic that will never talk back. Expecting it to grab my hand is even more stupid. My shaking fingers render it a heartbeat. But it feels fake and I want to throw it away.

Pitch tells me not to go. Handcuffs rattle against the tabletop. I have to hang up. Darkness creeps into my chest. Hollow cavity filled with conflict. Because I can't decide what to do and my heart is sputtering love blood. I feel so cold. So dark. Then again, nothing goes better than cold and dark.

"Jack, don't hang up. Please?"

Sorry, Pitch. I have to go.

There was a time that I would stay, but things are different now. We used to sit on the couch and watch TV. And you would throw a blanket over me because I looked cold. But not anymore.

My eyes pop open. I'm in a room painted black. A fan spins overhead. Bars of light sneaking through the blinds. One touches an easel. There's a half-finished painting on it. I'm in Hiccup and Astrid's bedroom. The sheets are all tangled up. They sure got crazy last night. I take a deep breath, remembering how I got here.

Oh, that's right. A fall off the balcony, a chance encounter with that girl. Rapunzel. Wait, where is she?

She vanished into nothing when Hiccup opened the door. Almost as if she had never been there. Rapunzel is real, I know it. Groaning, I run my hands down my face. Great, now I'm going to spend all day questioning if the whole thing was a hallucination. Like when you're a child and you swear that you saw Santa Claus. Nothing but milk drops in the glass. The slight shaking of a vase, a dark shadow. You know that he walked by, but then again, you don't. I believed in Santa when I was little. To be honest, I believed in everything. The Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, the Sandman. But I never believed in Jack Frost. That useless character that my mother loved to talk about. "Jack Frost is nipping at your nose! Look, it's all red!" And then there was the whole "Jack Frost shares your first name, sweetie. Isn't that cool?" argument that I couldn't care less about.

Now that I'm older, I'm more like him than I thought.

I roll over. This is Hiccup's pillow. I'd know it anywhere. Soft scents of paint and oil. Sea salt all mixed up with it. It makes me calm. I press my face against it and sleep some more.

The pillow is wet when I wake up again. Can't tell if it's sweat or tears.

Walking to the bathroom with a limp is problematic. Pieces of clothing are scattered all over the floor. Astrid's flannel shirt and mini skirt bunched up beneath the dresser. Hiccup's V-neck wrinkled and a little torn. Astrid is a beast. I've seen her fight. If that reflects her skills in the bedroom even the slightest…I envy Hiccup. Based on all the teeth marks on Hiccup's shirt, she must be a biter. I pick up a pair of lace panties with my toes. Let's assume these are Astrid's, but you never know.

This'll be great. They're stuffed into my back pocket as I wash my face. The sink is just like the shower. Slick and the water comes out burning hot. Not that I mind. Numb fingers can't feel anything.

Reflections are always deceiving. They flip things around and spit them back into your face. Self-portraits are the same way. At least, that's what Hiccup told me as he threw away an empty canvas. My reflection looks empty, too. Same pale face that gets me the occasional question of, "Are you a vampire?" No, dumbass, my skin doesn't sparkle. Same blue eyes, same white hair. It all gets me something. Stupid questions, pitiful remarks about premature hair greying, Hiccup's comments about my snowflake-shaped irises.

When he's in one of his artistic moods, he'll pin me down and sketch my eyes. Knees on my shoulders, tongue stuck between his teeth.

There's new stuff. Bandages around my head and under my chin. Purple bruises and a swollen eye. Now my outside finally matches my inside. A hollow laugh. Come on, Jack, don't revert back to an emo kid in pencil thin jeans. Even though Pitch liked me that way.

No. Stop. I shake my head and look away from the mirror. This is stupid. A light bulb flickers, which surprises me because Hiccup is always on top of things. Maybe I'm not the only one with problems. Sighing, I decide to suck it up. Stop acting like a baby, a weakling, a fag.

Those three things are just a few examples of what Mr. Haddock calls his son. Can't believe I just named them. The urge to smash my fist into the mirror is unbearable. So I leave.

A red frizzball attacks me when I open the door. "You're awake! Oh ya dobber, don't go scarin' us like that again!" Feel her pinching my cheeks, pulling at my arms. "Looks like you've been tummel yer monkees."

"What? You still drunk, Merida?"

Through the red curls, I see her eyes narrow. Then she punches me in the arm. No wait, that was Astrid. I recognize her fist. Just the right amount of boniness and tough skin. They're ganging up on me.

"No, she isn't drunk. She's upset! And so am I!"

I raise my eyebrows. "You're worried about me, Astrid?"

"No, I'm pissed! What the hell happened to you?"

"Not much. Just fell off a balcony." Her lace panties are bunched up in my hand. "By the way, nice underwear."

Her head is literally about to explode. I'm a lizard that just bit a dragon.

"Jackson Overland, you are asking for death." Cracking knuckles, flaring nostrils. "I will ground and pound you into dust."

"By all means, please pin me to the ground with your voluptuous thighs."

She does her signature MMA scream. "You did not just say that!"

"I really did."

"Objectifier of women!"

"Maneater!"

Hiccup jumps between us. "Ok guys, just relax. Did anyone catch the whole 'fell of a balcony' line? No? Just me? All right then."

More red curls smother my face. "Did you really fall off a balcony, Jack?"

Astrid snorts. "Of course he did. You can tell just by looking at him. The practically broken ankle, swollen eye, and overall shittiness that radiates off him."

"Thanks for summing that up." Hiccup pats her on the arm. "All right, let's just give the guy some room." Green eyes turn to me. "So, how are you feeling? You've been asleep for a few hours."

"I'm fine. Kinda sore, but that doesn't matter."

Hiccup starts to say, "Of course it ma—" but Merida's massive curls swallow us whole.

"You feel fine, that's great to hear!" Her arm is slung around me, fingers gripping my shoulder. "Let's celebrate with a pint or two."

Hiccup rolls his eyes. "I think we've all had enough pints to last the year, you raging alcoholic. Let's just have an awkward celebratory group hug."

Whenever something good happens, we come together. Uncomfortably hugging and pretending to be annoyed even though we secretly love it.

Our responses are the same. Going from Astrid to Merida to me.

"I'd rather give myself a hammerfist."

"Oh, all right. But no wandering hands, Jack. Keep your fingers above my waist!"

"Wow, guys. This is so magical. I might just tear up."

We huddle and hug each other tightly. Planning our next play. O's and X's are drawn in black crayon. Because we're not mature enough for pens and pencils. On the other hand, we're too old for our own good. Lagging our feet and wishing we could play with Crayola's again. Now we draw with scalpels.

Someone wriggles in between us. Tooth stands in the center, her face red. "Mind if I join in? I like hugs."

I start laughing. "Of course, Toothy. Come here, I bet my chin will fit perfectly on top of your head."

"No you don't, Jack." Merida grabs her by the arm. "The only chin that touches that beautiful head is mine."

There's giggling, blushing, feet tangling as we trip over the other. A little bit of pain from my sprained ankle. Warm feelings dripping like honey. We get stuck in it. Never let go. Never get out. Stuck inside a jar of sickening sweetness. It cracks and spills across the countertop. Spicy red curls that taste like the hot sauce Merida puts on her eggs. Bitter yellow bangs, razor sharp and stale, but slowly softening. Just add water. Multi-colored strands pouring down my neck. Hot and sugary. And then there's the brown hair that bends against my cheek. Saltwater taffy, sweet on my tongue. We are a human confectionary.

We leave the kitchen. Bodies still warm, faces still blushing. In that immediate closeness, everyone feels something. Intimacy, love. Maybe a feeling that has never been there before. Breaking away from Hiccup is hard. Of course, I'll never say that. I just give him a sloppy dog kiss on his cheek and laugh as he rolls his eyes.

Tooth calls us over to the balcony. She points out the visible tear in the awning.

"Good thing it's made of fabric. You could have broken all your teeth." Her small frame leans over the edge. Small frames masking her eyes. Seriously, she's going to fall if she doesn't back up.

"Stop leaning over so far." I grab her hand. "You're gonna break your face, ankle biter."

Tooth looks at me over the top of her glasses. "Ankle biter?"

"Yeah. You're short. You're a dentist. Makes sense."

Hiccup is busy looking at the ripped awning. "Just accept it, Tooth. It's better than my nickname."

"What's your nickname?"

"…Tiger Toes."

The blush on his face is so adorable, I want to pinch his cheeks. Kidding. Giving him that nickname was the best decision of my life. Because he only has five toes and the irony kills me. And he reminds me of a cat with his awkwardness and overall snippiness.

Overall cattiness. Pretty punny, huh?

Tooth leans against the railing, laughing until tears roll down her cheeks. Wow, dentists have really nice teeth. She looks so pretty when she smiles. Almost as pretty as Rapunzel. Wait, Rapunzel! Where did she go?

Astrid cuts off my train of thought. "So are you going to tell us what happened to you or what, Jack?"

"Yeah, Jack, how 'bout it? Your little Tiger Toes is dying to know why you front flipped off a balcony."

"Geez Hic, your sarcasm is a little much. But I'll tell you since Tiger Toes wants to know."

So I tell them. When I get to the part about Rapunzel, Hiccup raises his eyebrows. "I might have missed something, but I'm pretty sure no one has moved into this building in months."

"Are you sure? She literally just moved in. You're positive you haven't seen a hot blonde walking around?"

"Only one." He glances at Astrid.

His prize is a punch in the arm. "I better be the only one, Buttercup."

So many nicknames. He's so lucky. Nicknames mean so many things. Astrid calls him Angel Eyes when she wants to have sex with him. He'll be on her like a pit-bull on a T-bone. Not that he's much of a pit-bull, more like a basset hound. Sugar Puss is used to irritate him. Poking at the chinks in his armor. He calls her one name, Firefly. He calls me nothing.

Neither of them know who Rapunzel is. She wasn't a dream, I know it. But they just tell me to drop it and get some more rest. I get a few more relieved punches. Smiles, chuckles, hands ruffling my hair. Hiccup grabs me from behind and plops his chin on my head for half a second.

Now he's gone.

Merida puts a hand on my shoulder. Lingering there just long enough. "Come on. Hiccup will make you something to eat."

I laugh at the fact that she doesn't offer. Hiccup will do it. Of course. Hunger is still there. So maybe I'll go inside and share a turkey leg with Astrid. Yeah, maybe I will. The taste of a grape tomato still fresh on my tongue.

* * *

Thin slices of turkey on whole wheat bread. Mayonnaise is spread on thick. Not really a leg, but whatever. I thank Hiccup between mouthfuls.

He doesn't appreciate this. "Chew with your mouth closed."

Merida waves him off. "Leave him alone, Hiccup. If a man wants to chew with his mouth open, let him be."

"Says the girl who's chewing with her mouth wide open."

"So?"

"You're not a man, Merida."

"Well I sure ain't a lady!"

These are our conversations. Don't judge. No, wait, you can judge if you want. I just won't give a shit.

Back to lunch/brunch/meal-to-heal-my-broken-insides. Tooth lectures about how everyone should own carrots. They are natural teeth cleaners, you know. Astrid and Hiccup have synchronized their eye rolls.

Clouds are motionless as the day moves on. Astrid has a fight tonight. Some chick with bulging muscles and swollen knuckles. Astrid jokes that her opponent could use Hiccup to beat me to death. I've always wanted to be a piñata. How nice. Days are lazy. Especially in this apartment. The A/C breaks and Merida and I strip for Tooth and Hic. They throw pillows at our stomachs. Then Astrid walks in with her sports bra hovering over her rock-hard abs and we are all put to shame.

Later in the day, it's a girl's afternoon out. Merida's hair is frizzing even more than usual. Tooth groans as her glasses fog.

While they discuss girly plans, Hiccup and I retreat to the bedroom, the coldest place in the apartment for some reason. He's in one of his artistic moods again. I know what's coming. Knees dig into my shoulder blades. Soft fabric of his pajamas on my chest. If I could rip them off in a no-homo way, I would. Being handsy is my way of conveying emotion. I touch people to remind myself that I won't go right through them.

Pink tongue gets lodged between white teeth. He draws my beat up face in his sketchbook. Crumpled pages circle my head. A fibrous flower crown. Skinny ass on my abdomen, trunk towering over me. He could be a tree if he stood still enough. Shaggy hair sits atop a loose head. Bending in so many different directions I'm surprised it hasn't fallen off. He moves this way when he is sketching. When he's sketching me.

Astrid kicks the door open, keys dangling from her fingers. I see her through my peripherals.

"Gay."

That's all she has to say.

Hiccup rolls his eyes. "Don't care. And stop breaking my concentration."

"I just have to grab some clothes. We're going to the mall."

"Sounds fun." He never looks away from his drawing. "You taking the smart car?"

"No. My motorcycle needs to be ridden."

I watch his fingers grip the pencil. Don't scribble all over the page in annoyance, Hic. Relax. Gritted teeth will have to do. "Three people on a motorcycle…sounds…safe. You're playing a very dangerous game, you know."

"Don't care." Her grin is toothier than a dentist's office. "Besides, one of them can sit in the sidecar."

"Whatever. Just be careful." Grip softens. Strokes become more even. "And don't forget to go to Hot Topic. You have to return that Game of Thrones shirt. It's too big on you."

"I know. Where's the bag?"

He sighs. "Where it's been for the past week, under the bed. Receipt's in the top drawer."

"With all of your boxers and assorted Speedos you never want me to mention."

I give her a mental high-five as Hiccup blushes. She drops to the floor, searching beneath the bed. Something hisses. A black cat darts out.

She pokes it in the stomach. "Your cat's finally come out of hibernation, Hic."

"Give him a break. He's been tired lately."

There's Toothless. Sleepy and ticked that Astrid woke him up. He bites at her finger before rubbing against her hand. Cats are bipolar, I swear. He reminds me of a used shirt. Jumbled up and waiting in the corner of the laundry basket before you pull it out and guiltily throw it in the washer.

Toothless weaves between her legs. Astrid gets dressed quickly. Skin tight jeans show off her thighs. A crop top shows off her abs.

"Ok, I'm outta here. Love you."

Hiccup lets those words simmer for a bit. Resonating inside his heart, his skull. They still get to him. I know it.

"Love you, too, Astrid."

Minutes of aloofness turn to three seconds of passion as they kiss goodbye. Dragons meeting in the air. Tails entwine. Tails are wet tongues tangling in the still air. The lack of A/C makes it even hotter to watch. But I'm a spectator, so I feel cold. Even with Hiccup sitting on top of me, I am cold.

A pinky toe comes to mind. One encircled by a golden ring. Rapunzel's ring with the tiny sun on it. She keeps floating to the forefront of my mind. My pond is frozen, but under the ice things are moving. Water carries things away. Rapunzel comes up to the surface. Just below the sheet of ice. She keeps knocking on it, trying to break through.

Not yet, blondie. First, I have to find you.

Astrid leaves with Merida and Tooth. I know that those two are walking hand in hand. Their interactions are so entrancing. Last night was proof enough. Poor Mer, her mother keeps pressuring her to find the perfect guy. I should listen to her problems. It's something I rarely do. Most of the time, she's the one listening to me. Taking her out for coffee would be good. A late night and a gory movie would be more fun. And she would like that more. Yeah, I'll do that sometime.

My thoughts wander as Hiccup sketches my bruised face. He's still on top of me. I'm still calling it no-homo. He finishes and throws the sketchbook aside, a pained grin on his face.

"Finally."

Pencils roll across the sheets. Knees roll off my shoulder blades. We doze next to each other. I grab a pencil and start poking him with the eraser. Right in the nose. It turns into a game of "I'm not touching you" and then he's drawing shapes on my stomach with a Sharpie.

"Astrid is right. This is so gay."

He rolls his eyes again. "Don't be a prude. Just accept it."

I'm suddenly alarmed. "Accept what?"

"That we're two straight guys lying in a bed. That's it." He grabs two pencils. "We're like these pencils here. So straight that you'd have to snap us in half to make us bend the other way. And yet, we can lie side by side in the same pencil box and think nothing of it."

His face is so serious and the pencils are awkwardly leaning against each other. This is too much. I press a pillow against my face and start laughing.

Hiccup's laughing, too. Hands keep drawing. Feel the velvet tip across my skin. Around my belly button, tracing my happy trail. Let's guess the shape.

A squiggle?

Wrong.

A star?

Wrong.

A smiley face, a heart, a dog, a cat?

Wrong.

Oh well, guess I'll find out later. When I wake up. Because I am falling asleep again. Hiccup passes out on my stomach. The marker is probably bleeding into the sheets. Leaking, reminding me of a drippy faucet. I'll wrap myself up in a cocoon and try to remember Rapunzel. Her wide green eyes, soft smile, golden hair. She was real. No one can tell me otherwise. I'll find her. Hiccup will help me. We'll search the entire building and find her sitting in a fire escape. Bolted against the ancient brick with her feet hanging over. Not that she'll be bolted. No, she'll be free and curious, staring at me with a grocery bag in hand. Those bare feet will remind me of my missing shoes. And the golden toe ring will remind me of the sun.

Warm against my back. Rays slinking down my spine. I'll find her. Someway. Somehow. People do not simply disappear. Only dead people disappear. Rapunzel isn't dead. Rapunzel is hiding. I am sleeping beneath the ice with her.

I'll crack it and find her there. Eyes wide open. Just wait and see.


	3. Treatment Stage 2: Protect With Blankets

**A/N: Hello, my fine readers ^^. What a glorious night it is (at least for me lol). If it is daytime where you are, I hope you are having a wonderful day! Sorry for my annoying chipperness (not a word, I know) I am just so happy and relaxed right now because I finished moving into my dorm and I've just been writing all night long. Sorry this chapter took so long. I was out of the country, then I was preparing for college, blah, blah, blah. Excuses, excuses. But seriously, I will try to be faster next update. Thank you so much for all of the support/reviews I have gotten so far. They really help motivate me and really brighten my day ^^. You guys are awesome.**

**So, this is chapter three:**

**In which Jack is a wimp when it comes to eating haggis, Merida and Tooth get some much need alone time, Astrid drinks a whole bottle of V8, multiple episodes of Antique's Road Show are watched, Jack gets all angsty about his past with Pitch, the HiJack bromance gets even more intense (lol), a RotG character appears, and Rapunzel makes her return.**

**I'm really trying to do something different with Rapunzel rather than the whole "innocent angel" act that she is frequently forced to portray. She's a lot more mysterious and sassy ;D. So I hope you like this chapter. Sorry for the obnoxiously long AN, I just have a lot to say at 1:58 AM haha. Enjoy the chapter and please review! Reviews/favorites/follows really help :).**

**My playlist for this chapter:**

**Ellie Goulding (basically a never ending loop of Lights), Lindsey Stirling (Never ending loops as I wrote the dance scene), Florence and the Machine (basically all of Lungs whether or not each song was applicable lol), Marina and the Diamonds ('Cause she has some great angsty songs) and then the song Lost Skies by Sophie Kazandjian, a wonderful little piano piece you should all listen to. Very haunting and beautiful.**

**Farewell, and enjoy...**

* * *

I am awoken by Hiccup's beeper. Buried deep in his pajama pants, I feel it against my cheek. Somehow, my face has ended up in his crotch. Guess I move around a lot when I sleep. We've been tangling like knots. Hiccup passed out of my stomach. Now he's sideways on the bed. We make a perfect right angle. I somersault away from those pants, hitting my head on the backboard. Bandages slide down my temple. Vibrations come from all angles. Impact of a human skull on a wooden board, internal buzzing of machines. Simple machines telling Hiccup that it is time to go to work. He takes these late shifts all the time. God knows why.

Thinking about a god makes me think of the moon. Because the moon looks like his face. When I was little, I used to whisper my prayers to the moon. Stupid, I know. But I saw a face up there. The Man in the Moon. And he was my god, my god that I no longer believe in.

A yawn makes me flinch. Hiccup stretches like a cat across the comforter. Rubbing his eyes and scratching at his stomach. It really is like watching a dragon emerge from hibernation. All heat and shedding scales. Except the scales are tiny brown hairs falling from his head.

Yeah, he sheds a lot. Not as bad as Merida, but still pretty bad. Auburn strands clogging up the drain. Astrid curses at him as she plunges her hand into the pipes.

Hiccup rolls off the bed.

"There's my alarm. Gotta get to work…hooray."

I smile. Let's push his buttons. "You signed up for these shifts, man."

He gives me that shut-the-hell-up look. There are many looks in his arsenal. "Thanks for reminding me, but nobody likes a smartass, Jack."

"Astrid does." That gets me borderline evil eyes. I have to explain. "She likes your ass and you're pretty smart. Thus, you have a smart ass."

Laughter as he shakes his head. "Smart because it stays away from you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on, I felt your face in my crotch." He rolls his eyes and starts pulling his scrubs out of the hamper. "Admit it, you can't resist all of this raw…nurseness."

The urge to rip my bandages in half is unbearable. "You're sick!"

"At least my birth certificate isn't an apology letter from a condom factory, unlike yours." His voice is as monotone as ever.

Ok, now we're getting personal. He wants to play? Let's play.

"Oh I'm sorry I didn't get that, I don't speak idiot."

"I'm already visualizing duct tape over your mouth, Jack."

"I'm visualizing you falling off a cliff!"

Back and forth. Back and forth. Comebacks turn to broken fits of laughter. Now we're laughing and throwing pillows at each other. Something that girls do at sleepovers. I really hope Astrid, Merida, and Tooth have another sleepover. Watching them have a pillow fight would just kill me. Literally kill me from blood loss. But not today. Right now, Hiccup is in the bathroom. We've had our daily dose of fun. Yes, arguing is fun for us. We've reached that point. Two pencils that don't mind snapping each other's point.

Hiccup's scrubs are dark blue. He waves goodbye and reminds me not to burn the apartment down.

"Astrid knows you can't make her fight, right?"

His nod is heavy. "Yep, I told her. She knows when I work." He flexes his invisible muscles. "And she knows that sickness never sleep. This nurse has pathogens to fight."

"Go, young warrior." I hold the door open and give him a salute. "Fight the good fight. Uphold your honor. We are Sparta."

We stare at each other for a solid minute. Then he grips my shoulder. Feeling a little dramatic today, Hic?

"Yes, we are Sparta." And then he's gone. That's that. Off to the hospital.

In fantasyland, he is going to save the world with his scalpel of truth. In reality, he is going to the hospital to sit in a rolling chair at a desk and occasionally give a sponge bath or two. Fun.

He leaves. I am alone. Sitting on the couch makes me restless. There is nothing good on TV. News anchors ramble about negatives things and throw all positivity out the window. The Kardashians live their useless lives. I watch Antique's Road Show for about five minutes before nodding off. No, I cannot fall asleep again. So I walk around. Tiptoe across the tile, jumping from square to square. Kitchen drawers are opened one by one. Forks and spoon scattered about. I turn a knife over in my hands before realizing what I'm doing. Thoughts are creeping into my head. Thoughts that scare me.

Metal glints in the sink. Water rushes over it. I am tempted to toss it into the disposal. But I don't. Keep walking. Don't think. There's a suspicious looking package in the fridge. All wrapped up in tin foil. Bits of frost fringe the edge. Hmm, the temperature must be too low in here. Another example of something broken that shouldn't be. Why is Hiccup falling behind on this stuff? He's a genius with tools.

My shrug makes my bones crack. Tin foil is very distracting. Barracudas swim towards shiny objects. Magpie's like gold watches and silver chains. I like tin foil. It always breaks my train of thought. It's heavy in my hands. And then it's open and a fork is entering its mystery contents. What the hell is this? Whatever. Who cares? Pieces of meat are tasteless on my tongue. Half of it is gone. I notice the sticky note on the foil. Hiccup's eye roll would be so appropriate right now. Neon yellow screams that this is Merida's special chunk of haggis. Her slanted handwriting is instantly recognizable:

Hiccup,

I knew one of my friends would realize how amazing haggis is. I made this super special piece for you to try. Don't be a sissy and back out on me!

Enjoy,

Merida

A winky face drawn in red marker ends the note. Holy crap. I just shoveled a buttload of sheep's stomach into my mouth. Hiccup's a moron for expressing interest in this stuff. I'm a moron for eating mystery meat. What's done is done. I'll pay for it later. By later, I mean now. Booze and turkey and mayonnaise and assorted animal organs mix inside my poor stomach. Being a surgeon suddenly seems like a blessing as I contemplate cutting myself open and removing the damn thing. I throw up in the sink. Wow, I am so graceful right now. It's such a surprise I don't have a girlfriend…not.

Glinting metal is covered with my puke. Haha, stupid knife. No one liked you, anyways. You tried to make me do things. Sick things that I don't want to think about. You and your sexy body that tried to find my inner masochist. Pointy fingers like Edward Scissorhands. Except you are not bumbling and adorable. You're evil. I hate you. But Pitch loved you. Loved you so much that he put you inside me and tried to make me accept it. Blood running down my shirt.

Thinking about Pitch makes me want to do one of two things. Ram my head into the cabinets until my eyes bleed or punch the knife until my fists are ribbons. I choose neither. Instead, I do the nice thing. Brush my teeth with the spare toothbrush that Hiccup bought just for me. Then I decide to clean the sink. It isn't hard. Pinpricked fingers are soaked through with blue soap. Bubbles swirl around the drain. Moving in their own little orbits and then falling into the black hole. The knife is thrown into the garbage.

No one liked it, anyways.

A day of doing nothing makes me even more tired. Lying on the couch, I sigh and drum my fingers on my stomach. Scrubs are itchy in the A/C-less room. This is ridiculous. Fire from the sun touching my forehead, making me hot. Ice from the freezer giving me goosebumps. This day is dragging by. And dragging me along with it.

I am not a graceful person. I am not a summer's day filled with ice pops and bikinis on the beach. I am a winter's night. Staring at the moon makes me nervous. When I roll my shoulders back, my bones pop. Fingers rarely touch warm flesh, unconscious patients feel stone cold. I need someone really bad. Either my desire is great or I want a horrible person. Both are fine with me. Maybe I should start a blog called "sexuallyrfrustratedJack". But my thoughts never revolve around shallow things. Parties and hot girls. Seriously, I swear. I am not your archetypal guy. I think about loneliness at 2 am and whether or not I actually came back from the dead. But I am still a guy, so sex is always there. Gentle sex that makes my heart beat like a hummingbird's. That will never come.

I am not your archetypal surgeon, either. Someone calls me in to perform an appendectomy. Those are simple, but the hospital is busy and they know how fast I work. I just shrug. My voice is professional as ever. This will be easy, but I still throw my phone against the couch. Come on, I'm tired and not in the mood and today is my day off!

Oh well.

Showers are difficult to enjoy in a rush. Water comes out burning hot. In and out in three minutes.

My trips to the hospital are never eventful. There is nothing to say. A white building filled with white halls and white rooms. People living and dying. Tears of joy as a little Timmy finally wakes up. Tears of sadness as Grandma Marge falls asleep forever. Sometimes, it's the other way around. And that makes me sick. I already feel like shit as I talk to the patient. The patient's frantic mother rocking back and forth beside me.

Geez, lady. Relax. It's a frickin' appendectomy.

I don't say that, obviously.

"There's no need to worry. I've performed thousands of these. It's a piece of cake. Haha." My laugh is so fake.

I complete the Laparoscopic surgery in under an hour. Done. In and out just like a shower. The patient will be discharged in less than twenty-four hours. But wait, there's more. I found a cist on the patient's ovary while I was removing the appendix. Ohhhh isn't this just time consuming? Have to snap a picture. Have to inform the right people.

"Who do you recommend as the gynecologist, Dr. Overland? Dr. Overland?"

It takes all my willpower not to pull my hair out. I throw out the first name that comes to mind. What name did I even say?

Ovarian cists are not my specialty. Sorry, not my division. There's no need to wait for the gyno. So I go back to the apartment.

By the time Astrid comes home, I am sitting on the couch in my boxers.

Her words fly with her shopping bags. Hitting the counter hard. "Hey, you look like shit."

"Thanks."

Blue eyes roll. "Come on, you know I'm just kidding."

"Yeah, yeah." Sighing, I crack my body. From my toes to my neck. "Merida and Tooth are missing."

"I gave them some alone time. Showed them that spot behind the community pool house."

"More like a shack. That thing's a piece of crap."

"Whatever. But trust me, they needed it. " She starts taking her shoes off in an angry way. "Listen to this. Merida isn't allowed to bring Tooth home to her family. Is that ridiculous or what? Her mom has practically disowned her. That sick little bi—"

"Relax, Astrid. Go punch a wall or something."

Her eyes are daggers. "Screw you."

I groan. "Hold on. Wait. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come across like that. Really, I'm—"

"No. I'm sorry, Jack." She stands in front of me, her arms out.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

She kicks me in the shin. "Offering you a hug, dipshit."

"Why?"

"Because you were left alone all day. I forgot Hiccup had to go to work and you've been here for hours." A sigh, a flick of her braid. "Just accept it."

I run my hands down my face and laugh. "You are so bipolar."

"I said, accept it."

My response is a sigh mixed with more laughter. So it's a slaughter? Holy crap, I just realized that the word laughter is slaughter without the s. I'm trying not to crack up as Astrid yanks me to my feet. Subtlety is harder. Even harder with my face against her bangs. Mirth is still there, shaking my body and making me bite my lip. But there's something about this awkward hug. Astrid gripping me tighter than necessary. Angry yet comforting. Nails dig into my back. And my hands are huddled around my chin. Like a child being hugged by their jerky mother. Breaking open one of those Wonderballs for the first time. Looks like she isn't really hollow inside.

The hug lasts a few seconds. Feels like an eternity. In a single moment, I am reminded of why I used to like her. When I first met her, I was so jealous of Hiccup. He has his own little flame encased in ice. And she loves him so much. It's obvious. Being loved…that would feel amazing.

But this is no time to get emotional. She lets go and ruffles my hair. I pull at her braid in return.

She's in the kitchen. "Why is the sink filled with bubbles? The hell did you do, take a bath?"

I shrug. "You do what you gotta do."

"Butt munch."

Stifling laughter is harder than ever. I tap the remote on my chin. "Wanna watch Antique's Road Show?"

Leaning against the countertop, she stares at me for a solid minute. "Fine."

Minutes turn to hours on the couch. Toes cracking on the coffee table, arms thrust behind her head, Astrid never sits ladylike. It's one of her greatest charms. A bottle of Low Sodium V8 balances between her thighs. She's getting ready for her fight. Plenty of potassium pumping through those iron clad veins. Yeah, Astrid is a badass. We take turns guessing the prices of each antique item. A World War II memorabilia collection that goes for four thousand. A china teacup that goes for a couple hundred.

Astrid takes another swig. "I wish I had some useless crap that was worth four-frickin'-thousand-dollars."

"I've got some old books in my apartment."

"Sell that shit."

"They aren't shit."

"What books are they?"

Sighing, I look at her through my peripherals. "Just some classics. Treasure Island, Pride and Prejudice, that kind of stuff."

She snorts. "Toss that Jane Austen crap out the window. I can't stand that era of male chauvinism and frilly skirts." Another swig, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. "You need to read Game of Thrones, man. Or you can be like Hiccup and read the biography of Da Vinci."

"Yeah, right. Just give me an issue of Playboy and I'll be happy."

A bony fist meets my shoulder.

We keep watching. TV remote between us. Three episodes begin and end. Credits are flashing by when Merida and Tooth walk in. They look kind of ruffled. Towels that were left in the dryer for too long. All hot and wrinkled around the edges. One of Tooth's feather earrings is missing. Hand holding always feels so warm and fuzzy. Mocha and milk mixing at the fingertips. The perfect cup of coffee. If you look closely, you might even see a few red curls amidst those rainbow bangs.

"Well, hello, girls."

"Hey, Jack."

It's a simultaneous answer. One voice high, covered in sugar and breaking from impact. The other one stilted and annoyed, filled with so much embarrassment that you can almost hear the red. See it on both their cheeks. That sweet flush. Thinking of candy when I see them, sugary lips bitten by marshmallow teeth. They're like the candy couple. Merida's long licorice caught in a snow cone. They're so hot I want to dive into that snow cone and drown.

But I'll just keep that to myself.

Teasing is all right, though.

"Seriously, guys, we've gotten through three episode of Antique's Road Show. What took you so long? Couldn't figure out how to find your way back…from the pool house?"

Merida laughs and sits on the arm of the couch. "Stop shoving your nose into other people's business, Jack."

"I agree." Tooth sits on her lap, trying really hard to look all sassy. Flipping her bangs back and looking at me through the side of her glasses. Her attempt is so hilariously adorable.

"Quiet, ankle biter. You two just sit there and keep looking cute."

Merida stares at me with those shut-your-mouth-Jackson-Overland eyes. Yep, they're easily recognizable. Tooth just blushes even harder and buries her face behind a curtain of red.

Astrid rips the remote from my hand. "Can we watch something else, please? I need something exciting, something that gets my blood pumping for the fight. Something like…here we go."

The rest of us react in order, from Tooth to Merida to me.

"Oh, I used to like this show when I was little. Look at the rainbow one, she has hair like me."

"Now this is a proper children's show! Female ponies kicking ass!"

"Hell yes…"

We spend the next hour watching My Little Pony. It's the one episode where Twilight Sparkle discovers the elements of harmony. And then it's the one where Rainbow Dash discovers the joy of reading. To all non-Bronies/Pegasisters, that probably sounded like gibberish. My apologies. Here's a quick summary: MLP is awesome…the end.

I blink a total of eight times during the last episode.

Astrid clenches the V8 bottle between her knees.

Reading is some intense stuff.

A yellow sun slips down the sky before I realize what's happening. Hours of watching TV and sleeping on the couch have turned to twenty minutes of frantic running. Duffle bags on the floor, full of equipment. White bandages rolling across the tile, chasing Astrid as she runs to her room. I'm finally out of my scrubs. Hiccup's clothes are a little long on me. V-neck shirt with sleeves below my fingertips. Cargo pants are tight and I step on them when I walk. He would run his hands down his face and sigh. But he would let me wear them, because he's just like that. Acts of kindness permeate his life. Giving a homeless man his shoes in the dead of winter, rescuing a bloody cat. White bandages become soft in his hands. Healing comes naturally to him. In a perfect world, he would be the surgeon and I would be the amputee. He deserves better.

But then again, he does have Astrid. She loves him, prosthetic leg and all.

Toothless chases the bandages that are chasing Astrid. Claws scratch the tile as he slides all over the floor. Even he is anxious for this fight.

Astrid, the kind of heated anxiety that comes from being the top dog on the playground, the one that every kid fears, boy or girl. She walks around the apartment in her tight black shorts that go down to her knees, her matching sports bra exposing her abs. Her gloves are pink, go figure. And there's a strip of pink camouflage along her outer thighs. Girly yet terrifying. Knowing that this chick could rip most people to shreds.

But not me, never me. Because I am definitely in shape and not already fighting depression, can't you tell?

"We're taking Merida's car." Astrid pops out of the bedroom, duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

I notice the inconsistency of that statement. "If you guys had a car available, why'd you take your bike to the mall?"

She shrugs. "Cause I wanted to. Now come on."

I get a nice punch in the gut as she heads towards the door. Normally, this wouldn't hurt. But ever since eating that haggis, I've been feeling shitty all day, and this doesn't help. I take a sharp intake of breath and lean against the wall, thinking I'm going to puke again, praying that I wasn't poisoned by Merida's awful cooking.

Looking down, I see her feet. Tooth is hovering in front of my face.

"You ok, Jack? You look awful." Feel her fingers against my cheek, painted nails tapping my skin. She's a personal space invader. Not that that's a bad thing.

"Tooth's right, you look a bit…odd."

"Thanks, Merida. But I'm fine. Trus—" I feel something coming on. Can't tell what it is. Some kind of nagging at the back of my throat and then up in my nose and then I sneeze and try to stop it, so it comes out all high-pitched. This little squeak that sounds like a mini Pikachu yawn. It's official. My manliness is completely shattered.

Tooth is attacking me. Holding my head against her chest and making those weird fangirl noises that Hiccup makes whenever he sees a picture of Irene Adler from Sherlock.

"That was adorable!" She glances at Merida. "I think little Jackie is sickie. He even feels kinda warm."

"Stop with the baby talk, you know how I hate that. But you've got a point." Now Merida's hands are on my face. Except she pokes and prods without a second thought. Each nail a scalpel. "He does look a bit peaky. Maybe we should have taken him to the hospital after his fall?"

Astrid groans from the doorway. "You're off duty, Merida. No need to play nurse. I'm gonna be late! This is real simple, either all of you move your asses or Merida and Tooth move their asses and Jack stays here."

"Oh don't be such a sour-puss. You'll get there in time." Merida and Astrid have a dirty look exchange that melts into muffled laughter. She grabs my face. I see nothing but red curls. "Ok, Jack. You think you can go to the fight?"

The answer to this question eludes me. When I stand here and think about it, my whole body responds to the negative. I suddenly feel awful. Swollen ankle hot and heavy as I lean against the wall. Nerves prickly. Cacti in my brain. Cacti in my skull. It's a desert up there. Someone turns on a heat lamp and lets me bake. The more I think about it, the worse I feel. And then I realize that I've been holding it in. Fatigue from a fall that left me with a fuzzy memory of a girl I desperately need to find. Sprained limbs. Old thoughts. Symptoms of a cold that make my eyes water. I'm almost positive that haggis gave me food poisoning. There's a dull throbbing in my head, my chest. My fall still lingers. Because it wasn't just a fall from a balcony, it was a fall from my fantasy. Clouds made of false happiness evaporated. My imaginary world of the "unfeeling surgeon" is gone. How much do I have to break? How hard do I have to fall? Isn't crying and almost dying enough?

Nope. Never enough.

After five minutes of thinking, my answer to Merida is a muttered "yes" followed by another round of puking in the sink. Bubbles cover half my face. I'm kneeling on the tile, my head against the cabinet, as the three of them argue about what to do and whether I'm dying or not.

"We should have taken him to the ER after he fell!" Merida throws her hands up. "What are we, a bunch of uneducated idiots?"

"He's been fine since we got home!" Astrid is pulling at her hair, teeth gritted. "How were we supposed to know this would happen?"

"He fell from a two-story balcony, Astrid! We should have known!"

"No offense to you and Hiccup…but you guys are nurses, you probably should have seen this coming."

"Oh shut up, Tooth!"

Back and forth and back and forth. They're fighting and I'm lying on the tile, trying to cool off. Everything feels so hot. I want to escape this heat trap that is my skin and dive into an icy lake. Well, that's an ironic thought. Icy lakes don't really agree with me. Last time I took a dive, the water hugged me too tight. It shoved its fingers down my throat and tried to gag me. Now I'm thinking about Rapunzel and the way she cringed, just like that girl in the hospital. Screaming about blue eyes has fallen into silence. Now, I see her shaking and pulling at her sweatshirt as she tries to get away. From me, from memories. We might be more similar than I think. She's been hurt, it's obvious. So have I, but not in the same way. Both of us were violated, except the hands that gripped her tight were made of human flesh.

Thinking about someone hurting her makes me even sicker. It's hot down here, back of my hands against my burning forehead. Everything on fire. The words, the air, my eyes, my tongue. All of it burning. My luck keeps getting worse. First I lose a patient, then I cry in front of my best friend, fall off a balcony, meet a girl that may or may not be a figment of my imagination, and now I'm sick and embarrassed and this weekend officially sucks.

Now I sound like a whiny teenager. Even better.

"Jack! Jack!"

"Huh?"

Someone is kicking me in the shoulder. Based on the level of intensity, I know it's Astrid.

And then Merida confirms my hypothesis. "The hell, Astrid, don't kick the poor guy!"

"Relax, carrot top. He has to snap out of it. He's really starting to freak me out and we have to get going." Another kick. This time a little harder. Hard enough to make me flinch. "Will you be ok here, Jack? You don't need a hospital or anything, right?"

I shake my head about five times before I answer. "No…no, I'll be fine here. It's probably just the flu or whatever. Seriously, I'm fine." So I stand up to prove my point. It's a very slow ascent. "See, guys? Go to Astrid's fight, have a frickin' awesome time. Please, don't baby me."

They stare at me for a long time. Feel like some kind of spectacle, leaning against the counter with all eyes fixed on me. Their nods are in unison. Red curls bouncing, blonde bangs drifting, rainbow strands sliding all over like ice cream.

"Ok, if you're sure, I guess..." Tooth starts slowly towards the door. I think my harshness scared her. "Feel better, Jack." Her feet seem to drag. Bracelets jingle, crooked glasses slide down her nose. Watching her walk is even more entrancing through the heat of fever. If I wasn't puking so much, today would be a great day to get with a girl.

Not "get with" in the traditional way. Just get with her lips and the crooks of her elbows. Get with the bends in her knees, the curls of her hair. A good makeout would feel so nice. But I'm about to be left alone…again.

Astrid gives me one last affectionate kick. Doesn't hurt so much anymore. "See ya later, don't burn the apartment down."

"Will do. Make sure to kick ass."

"Will do."

And then she's out the door. It slams. She's really mad, I can tell. But she's trying to hide it. When she fights with Hiccup, she does the same thing. Trying hard to contain all traces of anger, trembling and clenching her fists as Hic throws intellectual insults at her. From all angles, from all sides of all rooms. His accuracy is that of a sniper rifle. Now I can feel her irritation slipping through the cracks.

Merida is the last to leave. Hands around mine, she smiles. Makes her look tired. "Take care of yourself. If you want me to stay, I—"

"No. Please, go and have fun. I'm a grown man."

"You're still a wee bastirt to me." A ruffle of my hair, a kiss on my cheek. I'll never understand her Scottish phrases. But they always make me happy.

Her fingers linger on my hand. I still feel her touch as the door softly shuts. So here I am, standing in the middle of the floor, shaking and burning as the room spins. I should probably lie down. That's a good idea. Hiccup's pillow still smells like the ocean. Cracked lips breathe it in. Sweet smells wafting through the case and into my mouth. Earthiness, sweat, sea salt from a trip to the beach a few weeks ago. Why is he so perfect? No, seriously. Hic is awesome. We're two best friends that have experienced every kind of thing. Breakdowns in the middle of the night, breakups and makeups, too. We've shared sex stories and childhood stories.

One night, I told him about my first time:

There we are, sitting in the living room of his apartment. We almost never hang out at my place. Bringing people there makes me uncomfortable. Like they are judging me by how it looks. Drawn curtains mean that I am antisocial. Dusty countertops say that I am lazy. And the black box beneath my bed tells people that I am secretive. I should be. That box holds letters from Pitch. White envelopes stacked up to the brim, covered in sharp handwriting that could have come from a monster's fingernail. But of course, he isn't a monster. He's just a confused asshole that can't control himself. Kind of like me. Except I don't hurt others. Healing desires. Hopeful desires. Wishing that I could save people with just a single glance. Pitch and I are alike, but not in the same way. If I were to hurt anyone, it would be myself. Beneath the pile of white envelopes, there is a silver knife.

Slightly orange from rust.

Slightly red from blood.

Dried blood has always fascinated me. How it turns from screaming scarlet to mourning black. It could be tar, fresh blacktop spread like butter. It could be anything. Hidden knowledge tells you what it really is, though. Humans seem to naturally recognize blood. I know I do. Smeared all over the knife. Trailing down the wall. My secret box holds everything. I do not believe in vanishing your demons. You should talk to them, learn their names. I sit with them at night and listen to their stories. There's no stopping them. No drowning them, because they know how to swim. And I'm ok with that. Demons are beautiful in the right light.

My demons are there as I tell Hiccup about my first time. We sit on the couch, eating popcorn and watching Die Hard.

"So, who was she?"

"Some girl in my tenth grade biology class."

He pops a buttery piece into his mouth. "Did she have a name?"

"Honestly, I forget."

A well-timed eye roll. "Wow…you're such a romantic, Jack. What a memorable experience." He stifles a laugh. "If Astrid heard that, she would beat the shit out of you. Then she'd say something along the lines of, 'you misogynist bastard, women are not put on this earth to satisfy your sexual needs'."

"You sound just like her. It's scary, man." I slide down the couch and onto the floor. "And I was in tenth grade, cut me some slack."

"Still, one does not simply forget the name of their first sexual partner. It's like forgetting the name of your first pet. I remember mine. Her name was Mittens."

"Mittens?" I raise my eyebrows. "Was she from an exotic country or something …"

He almost chokes on his popcorn. "Oh God, Jack, I'm talking about my first pet. I had a cat named Mittens when I was six. You really are a dim-witted Booboisie sometimes."

This word rolls around in my mouth. "A boob…a what?"

"Google it."

He's moving into a new topic. I can tell by how fast he says this. Anxious to throw away the prologue and go right into the first chapter. The beginning of my sex life. Why does his restlessness make me so excited? Why am I plagued by such an awesome male friend that I may or may not be in love with (joking, of course)? Hiccup joins me on the floor. Leaning against the coffee table, he uses his crossed legs as a bowl to hold his popcorn.

"Now, tell me about this nameless girl. Let's call her…No Face."

"Then you can be Chihiro and I'll be Haku."

Another eye roll. "This is not Spirited Away. Stop evading and tell the damn story."

Messing with him is so much fun, but I'll stop. There are angry lines around his brows. "Fine. Listen up. I met her at a party. We had never talked in class before, but I knew who she was. She called me 'that weird kid with frozen eyes'. Poetic, huh? All I remember about her is that she was the artsy type. One of those hipsters before the phrase really existed. Her hair was…uh, it was some color on the visible spectrum…"

Hiccup interjects, "You don't even know what she looked like? Where did you meet her, in a darkroom?"

"Don't be a smart ass. And don't interrupt. It was a house party, so it was pretty dark to begin with. And when we started kissing, we were actually blindfolded. So there's my excuse. It's perfectly legitimate, too."

Hiccup groans and lays down on the floor. Popcorn rolls into his crotch area. "I swear, if this is some weird bondage story, I'm leaving right now."

"Relax, Hic. We were playing a stupid game. High school crap. Like Seven Minutes in Heaven except both of us couldn't see. We were in a closet, blindfolded, but we knew who we were kissing. There was a brief meeting outside, then some random classmates shoved us in there to get to it. So we kissed, then I went for her boobs, she went for my crotch, clothes came off and we did it in a closet."

"Blindfolded." He says this slowly. It's meant to be a question.

"Yep, blindfolded."

"You had sex for the first time blindfolded. That is quite a feat." Kernels go flying into the air, landing in his mouth. "You must have known your female anatomy pretty well to accomplish that."

"Well, I am a surgeon."

And then we start laughing. It turns into tears streaming down our face, our shoulders shaking as we laugh harder than we should. Because it really isn't that funny. Popcorn and Die Hard make things funnier, I guess. So we laugh our asses off and fall asleep on the floor.

I told Hiccup about my first time a while ago. It was a pretty short story, full of holes and lacking detail. But he accepted it. Accepted me. Which is why I love him. The whole story is packed with sappy feelings that no manly guy would ever tell his bromantic partner. I kept it hidden. Like my secret black box. It's a story that invades my dreams some nights. Mixed in with visions of Pitch walking down a long hallway. Those dreams are the worst. Fantasies bumping against nightmares. They meet in that hallway. Highschoolers giving each other the evil eye. Air between them buzzes, lights flickers. There is no fog on the mirror of my mind because they are all holding their breath. Just breathe, damnit. Just inhale for a second. They never do. They keep grinding against the other. Blood pooling on the bathroom floor, her hair pooling at my feet. Pitch's skin greyer than a black and white film, her skin colorless. She could be anything. I know what he is. And these people lie next to me. Turning my head, I see them there. But I never see her, just darkness. We never locked eyes that night. Pitch and I locked eyes every second. We never blinked. These dreams are the worst. I'm tossed back and forth. Outside and inside. She is warm and I'm panting. He is cold and I'm dying. No one is breathing. They still hold their breath. Damn you all, damn you. Outside, I am sweating. Inside, I am twisting and in pain. Can never tell what it is. The consequence of taking too many pills or of being alone for too long. It all feels the same. A hollow aching that sits atop my pelvic bone and makes my mind itch. These dreams are the worst to wake up from. I've been holding my breath in real life and I gasp for air. For a moment, I think I'm gonna be sick and then I'm throbbing all over. Sometimes, I roll onto my stomach and scream into the pillow. Fingers claw at the sheets and I'm making love to nothing.

I won't tell the whole story now. It's too far down for me. I don't think I can hold my breath for that long.

Back in the present, I am half asleep on Hiccup's pillow. Come on, Jack, don't fall asleep now. If you do, you'll dream about Pitch and your first time. Maybe Rapunzel will appear, too. My body can't handle that right now. Already, the idea of her is getting me worked up. Panting through my fever. I'm a dog locked in a car in late July. How unfortunate. I once saved a little boy that had been locked in a car in late July. His parents were arrested, but his life was saved. By me. These trembling hands saved a life. They are motionless now.

Minutes go by. I can't tell how many. Only that they keep going and I am still alone. My stupid ass fever won't break. Feet made of lead take me to the bathroom. Five minutes drinking from the sink just makes me sick again. Throwing up water makes me feel wasteful. I look like shit. Jackson Overland, the great surgeon, can't even take care of himself.

After lying on the floor between the bathroom and the bed for about an hour, I go to the couch. I think I am finally done puking my guts out. There can't be anything left. The fever is still there. I take my temperature. One hundred and two. Not terrible. A hundred and four is the danger mark, and since I'm a doctor I should be able to handle more. Right? Fever logic is so skewed.

The next half hour is boring. Sitting on the couch, drinking plenty of water, the bottle balanced between my legs. This evening is so long.

Fifteen more minutes. Bored, so very bored. I still feel like crap, but I'm no longer throwing up every five seconds. That's good. The door beckons me. Handle all shiny, peephole blinking at me in that way cats do. Warm and affectionate. Grinning, I walk towards it. Blue material trails in front of me. I'm wearing Astrid's Snuggie. She would murder me if she knew.

I bolt the door so it won't close on me. What a nice hallway. Carpet under my feet. Look left and right. That's what my mother always said when I crossed the street. She said the same thing about frozen lakes. Look for cracks, look left and right. I never listened. Naked toes curl around the matted fibers. The floor is so warm. And I am so cold. My muscles twitch as I shuffle across the hallway, straight to the opposite door. It's the closest apartment, the door looks unmarked and never opened, so why not take a gander? I'm about to knock when footsteps make me jump. They're heavy. Without looking, I know who it is.

Remember the "bitchy landlord"? The one I mentioned when I was talking to Rapunzel? He isn't really a bitch, he's just big and loud and really annoying. He complains that the building isn't decorated enough. There's no excitement, he says. Nothing to make his eyes wide with wonder. People who talk like that piss me off. What's the point in wondering at things? No one ever answers your questions.

"Jack, my boy!"

That's another thing. He calls me "his boy".

"Spend the night at Hiccup and Astrid's again? You might as well move in. There are cheap apartments on this floor. I sold one pretty recently. Good deal, good deal!" His laugh shakes the whole hallway.

I turn towards his voice, eyes still on the door. "Hilarious. But I think I'll keep my apartment."

Footsteps come closer. Each beat makes my head hurt even more. But there's something there, something about what he just said. Wait, he sold an apartment recently…could it be Rapunzel?

But he beats me to the questions. "Oh, Jack, you look awful. Are you sick?"

That voice is even closer. I look up and he's there. Mr. North, the landlord of this building. A big man with tattoos up and down his arms. White beard, dark eyebrows, red long sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows. Honestly, he looks like a badass version of Santa Claus, but I won't ever tell him that. Known as just North to most, he is the overly friendly guy that runs this place like a workshop. Strict when he has to be, a complete goofball most of the time. He puts sticky notes on the doors. Hello, good morning notes. Move your car notes. Stop being antisocial notes. Hiccup and Astrid get those a lot. Most days, they can't get out of bed. And they never go to any of his special events. Christmas parties, St. Patrick's Day parties, all kinds of parties they don't attend.

He asks again. "You sick?"

What do you think? I'm standing in the middle of the hall, wrapped in a Snuggie and rubbing my bloodshot eyes. So I silently ask again, what do you think? But I say nothing. I just nod and look back at the door.

"So you recently sold an apartment? To who?"

North slaps me on the shoulder and laughs. "I can't go around telling people's business. But, I can trust you to keep secret, no? New buyer was a little younger than you. She was the nervous type, didn't want anyone to know she was moving in."

"It was a girl, then?"

"Yeah, a nice young lady." His lips are close to my ear now. About to tell me all about her, this nice young lady. About to tell me all of her business. "She paid three month's rent in advance and moved in all quiet-like. No furniture, no asking for help. She said little, kind of like man in moon."

My blank stare is misinterpreted as ignorance.

"The silent face on the surface of the moon. You should look up at him sometimes, Jack. He is very wise."

North's words are always confusing.

Another nod.

Another laugh and slap on the back. I can feel the roughness of his hands. And that's weird because I'm wrapped up in a Snuggie. More questions jump at the gate.

"Where…where does she live?" Wow, that came out creepier than I intended. His laugh turns the bones in my ankles.

"Here's something funny. She lives right in front of you!"

"This door?"

"That door."

A peephole before my eyes. Clouded and curved in order to keep things out. I've always liked them. They let you see who's outside without letting them look in. Hiding behind a wooden door feels like home. My body could be made of wood. My eyes the shuttered windows to my soul. Nine inch nails hold them tight. North's words are muddled. He says something about me being a "creeper" and then he apologizes, laughs, and slaps my back. Something about goodbye. His footsteps are still heavy as he walks away.

Eyes are fixed on the door in front of me. Bubbled peephole looks up at my face. She is behind this door. Or maybe North was lying and this is all a joke. High temperatures make me paranoid. Wood cold beneath my nose, Jack Frost nippin' at my toes. They curl into the floor. Wanting to open the door, I lean against it with all my weight. Please, open by yourself. Don't make me turn the handle and listen to the awkward creaking. It'll just scare her away. Blonde hair will fall into her quivering lips. Then she'll back into the wall and claw at it. Insane. Afraid. Desperate.

Three things that make me shiver.

They are oozing out of the door. Drugs through a vein that may or may not be connected to me. Already, the connection is there. Wi-Fi peaks and I can see her there. A blurry outline the color of a dead flower. Open the door, Jack, open it…No, wait…knock first, you asshole. This fever is driving me crazy.

My fist slides towards the handle. Knocking would scare her, I'm sure of it. So I'll just walk right in and say hello. What a great idea…

When the door opens, I swear I am lost.

I'll swear it on Pitch's heart. The deadest thing I ever saw. We buried it together beneath a tree with peeling bark. Our names were carved in there once. But the storms have blurred them. Crayons color them like dead flowers. Flowers should be dying now. They need to wilt and crumble because Rapunzel is killing me. The good kind of killing, if there is such a thing.

The door is unlocked. It's wide open. Across the bare tile, she is dancing on a field of newspapers. Ink and sweat drift towards me. The kind of sweat that comes from doing something beautiful. Limbs twist into each other, bending at the elbows and knees. Folded up, wilting and dying. Then blooming again. She keeps dying. Over and over again. Ankles roll when she bursts back to life. Hair goes flying every which way. She dances to the sounds of Lindsey Stirling. Lights flicker on the floor. Clear yellow from the dying sun outside. It folds, too. Orange candlewax dripping down the sky. Rebuilding is hard. Melted wax sinks into the metal and won't go back together. My sister used to cry when she was stacking broken candles. Don't touch them, sis, they're cold and dead and will never come back. Fire cannot be reawakened. Just like the raindrops that fall from a dead cloud. They will never go back into the sky. So why not dance in the rain? Stupid, that's so stupid. Rain just makes tears less important.

She keeps moving across the newspaper. They are pulled apart and scattered. When I see her painted toes, I understand why. Because they are literally dipped in paint. Just below her ankles, she is wearing a pair of purple and gold socks. Her footprints make one of those rare sunsets that widens your eyes. Streaks of color follow her across the room. One tile is protected by yesterday's shooting. It happened downtown. Another is covered by the obituaries page. Right now she is balancing atop a picture of the shore. A beached whale was found a few days ago. Why can't people just let them die? They beach themselves for a reason. They know it is their time to go. We should be saving those dolphins with the six-packs around their necks.

You know who dances like a dolphin?

Rapunzel.

Her plastic necklace is invisible.

She starts to spin. Paint splatters. I know what she's doing. Feet pointed, she is painting her apartment with every turn and jump. Dipping her feet in the pan then twirling around. Random patterns appear on the blank walls. Staccato toes then a sweeping arc above her head. It goes from jerky to graceful and then back again. Spotting, a word I learned from Hiccup, keeps her eyes on the far corner. Never faltering.

The sun dies slowly. This day feels like forever. She casts a really dark shadow. Black ink mixes with her body, blurry body sucked into darkness. Obituaries eat her up. Another spin. Sweat flies and I swear it hits me in the face.

I'll swear it on my grave. The makeshift one that is kept up in a corner of my brain. It's nice there. Trees hang low and leaves crunch beneath your boots. I take the time to step on the extra crunchy ones.

Violins draw me closer. Fingers must be playing her. The way she moves, dragged from one end to the other, can't be real. But it is. Every curve and muscle and flick of her hair. Waves of movement roll up her spine. Starting at her toes, she curls into it. My toes into the carpet. Shock waves move out across the water. They tumble beneath it all and make the ocean shiver. I can see her shock waves. Birthing, growing, moaning, aging, cresting at the tips of her blonde strands. Breathing into a flower must look like this. Being inflated by nature's breath. Her hands ripen and reach for the sky. No, it's just the ceiling, but beyond that is a plane of blue. No longer blue, but black. Night eats everything up.

This is all about ripening. When the time is right, her eyes open. Cheeks turn pink. Bones pop and muscles swell. She ripens with the cresting wave. And I can see the lines along her waist. They are soft and beaded with sweat. Her shirt is cut across the hem by jagged scissors. So are her shorts. Pink has never looked so un-innocent. Maybe it's the way she bends herself. Inward, hands reaching for that place that is so hidden from me. Almost like she's in pain. Then she's back, somersaulting across the newspaper and leaping into the air. I know how this makes me feel.

Alive.

Surprised.

Desperate.

Overwhelmingly sexual.

Guilty.

Sad for some reason because I know that she has been hurt and now I'm looking at her and watching her and undressing her with my eyes and examining her instrument and wondering who pulls the strings and wishing I could pull some myself and wanting to hold her and kiss her and never, ever be told again that my light has gone out. How can it?

My fever is climbing. I'm burning all over. I realize that I am sitting on the floor, the Snuggie pulled off and covering the top of my head. Each breath is yanked out of me. How long have I been watching her?

The same song is playing. Violins are still humming. Rapunzel starts leading with her hips and I swear I want to die.

I'll swear it on Hiccup's can of spilled paint. It fell over when he and Astrid were arguing one night. It's sacred.

Kind of like this moment.

"Oh my God…"

This moment that just ended.

It is a soft "oh my God", nothing too big. Her words fall to the newspapered floor. Straight onto last night's deadly car accident. It happened at the second stoplight on your way to Target.

Our conversation plays out on separate frames. Looking through the peephole in a kinetoscope.

"You're…"

"Jack, from earlier this morning."

"Was it really this morning?"

"Yeah, you sound surprised."

"Time just goes by slow, I guess. May I ask a question?"

"O-Of course."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The box breaks for a moment. The illusion is gone. Someone fix it, please.

"I just…" Come on, Jack, tell the truth. Say that you've been searching for her and dreaming about her all day. Laugh about the idea that she is a ghost. Because she isn't.

"You just what?"

Her voice is forceful. Not like I remember. I pull the Snuggie tight around my shoulders.

"You just wanted to come spy on me? You just couldn't help yourself?"

"No…I just…I wanted to," I cover my face with the blue blanket, "find you."

The box is fixed.

"Why?"

I peek through the blanket and shrug. "I don't know. To apologize, I guess. Because I offended you and scared you earlier." Why am I being so open? Quick, shutter my eyes back up.

"You didn't scare me, you just reminded me of a scary time. It's fine." She sighs and looks at me through her blonde hair. "But you really shouldn't walk into people's apartments uninvited."

"Honestly, I didn't know anyone lived here. It looks so empty from the outside."

Now she shrugs. "Apparently my existence is easy to overlook."

That must be why everyone thinks she's a ghost. But I don't say that, of course. My eyes take this moment to drink her in. She looks down at me from her newspaper kingdom. So comfortable in her natural habitat. Nervousness is almost gone. It is still there, though. Hands behind her back, feet together, she's tied up. By what I cannot say.

"Just so you know, Jack, I'm not afraid of you."

This makes me nervous. "I never thought you were."

"That's not what I meant. I'm not talking about you, specifically. I'm talking about men in general. I think you got that impression when we met. It's not like I'm afraid of men with pointy teeth or any of that. I'm afraid of rapists and killers. And those can be anyone. Take a killer's spirit and put it inside a woman, and it'll be the same inside a man. I think that we would all be the same, no matter what body we're in."

Her words fly at me, hitting the bull's-eye and making Merida proud. Where is this coming from? She speaks with blank eyes and barely breathing lips. Each sentence is taken from a textbook, if textbooks talked about fear and humanity and all of those secret things.

I let the Snuggie fall from my head. "Uh, wow. That's pretty deep, blondie. I had no idea you were so outspoken."

Muffled laughter. The sound of butterfly wings being torn off. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "No one ever does. They think I'm some nervous little girl that talks too much when I'm scared." Green eyes are suddenly dark. "They think I'm naïve, too, which is wrong. My mother, who isn't a monster, she thinks I'm very naïve."

It's starting again. That wave of nervousness inching across her face. Fingers pull at a lock, twirling it into a corkscrew. She looks away from me. "She just doesn't understand me, that's all. She loves me, I swear she does…she just thinks I'm fragile."

"You're delicate, not fragile." My lips move before I can stop them. Slight smile, the fever compelling me to do weird things. Rapunzel cocks her head.

"I like that. Delicate but not fragile. Kinda like an egg."

"Yeah…"

She sighs again. It carries me away. Toes tingle as the A/C rolls across the tile. "I should tell Mother that someday. I'm sure she would understand." Green darker than ever. "Mother thinks I'm fragile, but she also thinks I'm…I don't know how to explain it. Kind of tough, but not, like a rock, like I'm—"

"Impenetrable?"

It's an honest guess, seriously. I'm not trying to be a smart ass. But she twitches when I say this and she gags a little. I watch her shoulders dip.

"Um, yeah, like that. And I'm not…impenetrable." She spits it out with full force. Her body is an ocean and the tide of her skin pulls back, revealing her ribs. The small stomach deflates then comes back. The spasm passes.

When she lapses into these scared moments, she looks so small. I can just imagine a little girl staring out a window in the dead of night. One, two, three shakes of her head. A hair flip and a clearing of the throat. Her eyes are blank once more.

"See? I can get over things, I'm not afraid."

"I know, Rapunzel."

A grin is slowly ripening. Milky skin is sheened with sweat. I like the way the light bounces. "You didn't call me blondie."

"The moment called for a little more sincerity. Besides, it's not too bad a name." I stick out my tongue and she laughs. Very, very quietly.

"Want to know something, Jack?"

"Sure."

She starts playing with a thread on her shorts. "The reason Mother thinks I am…impenetrable…is because I never say anything. Anything bad, that is. She thinks I'm naïve, but she still makes…I mean, _asks_ me to do things."

It's hot, so hot. Cold sweat makes me tremble. Wrapped up in the Snuggie, I try not to think about these things. But I ask anyways.

"What things?"

"Random things. Like dancing." Feet trace circles on the newspaper. The paint is dry. Lindsey Stirling is on an endless loop. "I dance for her boyfriend when he comes over and I dance for the men who live in our building."

Emotions are fighting so hard inside me that I fear I might puke again. Guilt, shame, sadness, lust, the typical feelings of a lonely man who hasn't been laid in months. Rapunzel just told me she's a stripper. Holy crap, holy crap. Taking advantage of an abused girl is sick, though. Something I would never do. Still, I find it hard to stop the burning. It's moved into my pelvis, now. Then I process her statement and I feel nauseous again.

"Your mother makes you strip for money?" Not the best way to say it, I'll admit.

"No, she _asks_ me to. And it's the least I could do, or so she says. She needs financial help and I'm really good at dancing. I always get the best tips." She snaps the elastic band on her shorts. "This is where I keep them. In a band, mostly in my underwear."

I don't know what to say. Listening to her speak, watching her expression and gestures, I could be talking to a child. The urge to laugh and cry is making me choke.

"Do you understand what you're doing?" I sound so angry. Her mother's face is stuck in my head even though I've never seen her. "You strip for men. You take off your clothes for strangers and your mother tells you to."

"Asks me to."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does. Ask and tell are two different things. Just like delicate and fragile." Tracing circles turns to pirouettes, another word I learned from Hiccup. "And you don't get it, Jack. I'm not afraid of men, remember? I'm afraid of labeled people. The men are faceless ATM's. So they don't scare me. I pick a spot on the opposite wall and stare at nothing." She cocks her head again. Even farther down her neck, almost breaking it. "Would you like me to dance for you?"

I take a deep breath. Even the cold air makes me nauseous. I know my answer immediately. This girl should not be treated like a plaything.

"No…"

"Good." She flashes a smile as she spins across the floor. Her shirt flies up and I can see the outline of a tattoo on her back. Wonder what it is.

"You're sitting like I do sometimes, all scrunched up. Does your stomach hurt, too?"

I laugh hollowly. "Hurts like hell. So I take it you're sick, as well?"

She shakes her head. "Nope. I always have this feeling inside. Maybe now that I'm away from Mother, it will go away." The spinning stops. Green eyes find my bloodshot ones. Violins scream in the background, their voices muffled by a pillow. "Maybe I can be truly impenetrable. You think I could be like that someday?"

Our stare lasts for a few seconds. I look at her, and I see myself.

You were right, Hiccup. You were so right.

My voice is barely there. "Of course, Rapunzel."

"Good." After another sigh, she sits on the newspaper. The rest of her apartment is empty. Nothing but a few cans of paint, some groceries, a blow up mattress, and a tiny backpack overflowing with clothes. There are five strawberries sitting on the plastic.

Without looking at me, she says, "Why don't you rest for a bit, Jack? You did come in here uninvited, but you're not a rapist or a killer so I like you. You look really sick so you should get some rest."

"My friend's apartment is right across the hall, I can just go back there."

Eyes flick up. Waiting for a deer to cross the highway. Waiting for a star to finally fall. "But look at you. You're all pasty and trembling. You're trying to look tough. And if you leave, I'll be alone again."

"You could just come across the hall with me."

Her eyes widen. Never mind, never mind. Bad idea. I sigh and walk over to the mattress. "Fine, I'll sleep here. Happy?"

"Very. Now I'll play some nice music and you can rest. Having some company would be nice." She closes her eyes and smiles. "It'll be nice to have a sleeping audience. That way, I can dance with all my heart and paint the walls with my brushes."

"Your feet?"

"Yeah, my delicate feet that are not fragile."

"You tell 'em, blondie." The mattress accepts my weight. It bounces slightly as I lie on my stomach. Feels pretty good. All of my bones relax. Muscles still clench, my lungs pinching the sides of my heart. Then Rapunzel puts on a song. There must an iPod somewhere in this room. She says it is a song called Lost Skies. Kind of sad. Piano songs always make me depressed. My final thoughts are of her dancing behind my eyelids, and then Pitch covers my brain with one hand and I'm gone.

It's funny how everything always ends with me asleep. Little moments are tied up by periods of unconsciousness, restless slumbers, and lazy naps. Dreams fringe my life. Maybe the sandman will bring me good dreams.

Dreams of a girl dancing in the middle of a newspapered floor. She balances an egg on her finger and looks at it with wide eyes. Then she hammers a nail into the top of it and it does not break.

Delicate, but not fragile.

Just like Rapunzel. The girl that is real, the girl that still haunts me as I sleep.

If I wake up and she is gone, I know I will cry. But she won't vanish. I can feel her heat even as I drift off. It warms my body. Shards of ice vanish from my muscles and her painted feet carry me away.

Good night, Rapunzel, see you in a little while…


	4. Treatment Stage 3: Go To A Warm Shelter

**A/N: Hey guys! It's almost been a month since my last update, sorry ^^". School is taking over my life (as is Attack on Titan haha). This chapter isn't exaclty 10k, it's more 7,625...but that's close enough xD. So before I talk about the chapter, I would like to thank you all for supporting me! We're three chapters in and there are already 32 reviews! (which is a lot to me, ok? ^/^) So thank you so much for liking, following, reviewing, or just reading. If you like this story even the tiniest bit, I will be happy.**

**Onto the chapter. In this chapter you will discover more about Jack and Pitch's past. And if you didn't already see it coming, there will be some BlackIce in this (just flashbacks and present confused feelings, that's all). After all, Rapunzel needs some competition ;D. But this story will ultimately end with Jackunzel and have many Jackunzel scenes. Angst is my favorite thing to write and BlackIce just screams angst...so yeah. Also in this chapter, Jack questions his "straightness" when he sees a certain character from RotG, Rapunzel and Jack get even closer, there is an egg fight, a lot of Nightcore, and we see Jack's idea for a Supernatural AU with him as Dean and Hiccup as Sam. Yeah, it's gonna be that insane of a chapter. And don't worry, next chapter Astrid, Tooth, and Merida will reappear and then things will get even crazier!**

**Enjoy and please, if you can, take some time to review :). Now onward, my readers!**

* * *

It's just a dream. But it feels so real and the sky is so black. Overturned inkpot in my mind. There are splotches all over my face. Dribbling black on my body that feels so cold and exposed. Exposure can kill you. Getting too cold as you climb up the mountain, get lost in the snow, fall into a lake. I remember how sharp the blades were. Dirty skates were left on the white shore as I went for my sister. The ice did not even touch my toes. It was all numb. Novocain in my face. Kind of like now. Because I am sunk deep, surrounded by dark water that fills up pink lungs. There's a sharp pain in between my ribs. A real pain that makes me jolt and sink even faster. Something grabs my ankle. Trying to scream, nothing but bubbles and more water and gagging and scratching as I am pulled down. What the hell is happening? Who is trying to kill me?

Isn't it obvious? These hands only feel a certain way. Their touch is good at reminding. Lost days full of brushing fingers, burnt leaves in my hair. We used to lie beneath the tree with our initials carved into the bark. Green vines tangled us up, except they didn't look green. Just some dull grey that reminded me of his skin. He sprinkled dirt on my face. Laughs like shadows. The pain between my ribs was there, even then. Now it floods my body. These hands are digging into the wound. The hell…can't you stop? But he won't stop. Pitch has never stopped. He's always been there, twisting the knife into my wound. Fingernails like familiar needles, all of that poison dripping into my veins. Cold apples. Warm roots. Remembering that rain that seeped into the mud around our heads. Black mud. Black eyes beside me. I am dragged deeper, deeper, deeper until I am dragged straight into a memory.

We are lying beneath that same tree. Bent branches are scalpels. His face is my latest victim…No wait, I mean patient. My patient. The hell would I say victim? Pitch makes me say all kinds of weird things. So we're lying under that tree. Rain is hot and wet on my face. Or maybe that's Pitch on top of me. Because he always does that. His cheek is buried in my chest. Then I push him off, or at least I try to. Fingers on bones on skin. I feel him everywhere. We're friends. But not this kind of friends. It's the way he holds me and slips his hand under my shirt.

"It's not gonna hurt, Jack."

"But I don't…I don't like you this way…"

"Then why don't you stop me? You're stronger than me, Jack."

That kind of silence that makes you guilty.

Laughs and falling leaves. "You like me, just say it. There's nothing wrong with it. After all, what goes better than dark and cold?"

Our time beneath the tree is long. Slow, too. Something I really want to forget but can't. After it's finished, I roll over, my face in the mud. Thinking about the difference between outside and in, feeling the pressure. The good and bad kind of pressure. Pitch is still all over me. His hands go from under my shirt to under my shorts. Just barely. My belt's never felt tighter. It's the kind that looks like a seatbelt, with the silver buckle and adjustable length. Pitch presses the button.

"Stop…"

"Oh come on, Jack. You're so tense. I'm trying to help you relax."

"I'm tense 'cause of you. Stop it."

"But I can help you, Ja—"

"Stop!" I roll back over, onto Pitch, slamming him against the ground. Mud drips down my face. Breathing hard, shoulders shaking. The rain is cold. Got his waist between my knees, that thin waist colder than rain and smoother than tree bark. Black sweatshirt soaked through. I feel it all beneath my fingertips. There it is again. The good and bad kind of pressure. I pull my hood up. Maybe I can hide my face. But he sees me and the rain streaks down my cheeks that look like tears and the redness and the pressure against his legs and the hair in my eyes and the hood covering it all up and the fingers trembling and giving it all away. So I do something really stupid. Something I will always regret. Pitch tastes like cold rain. He's laughing beneath my teeth. But I'm laughing, too…or maybe I'm choking…

I'm coughing into the blowup mattress. Rapunzel's apartment is warmer than it should be. It's sticky inside. My fever feels broken, that's a good thing. Too bad nothing else is good. Pink brain is sizzling like an egg, Pitch flipping the frying pan and laughing. I am dirty and gross, that memory making me want to throw up. Oh God, no. Please, no more puking.

"You awake? Or are you just coughing in your sleep?"

She's kneeling over me. I feel the strands of hair on my face. When I open my eyes, colors are everywhere. All heated, blurry lines making me squint. Great, the need to puke and the need to squint. What a perfect combo. I probably look even crappier than usual. Rapunzel flicks my nose.

"Hey…Jack. Feeling better?" Another flick. "Boop."

"What?"

"Boop." Her index lingers on my nose. "It's what people say when they touch other people's noses."

"Who the hell told you that?"

She shrugs. "Saw it on a TV show once. Want something to eat?"

Now I'm shrugging. "Uh, sure. What do you have?"

"Just stuff. Like eggs." Shrug. Again? I swear, it's like a shrugging contest.

"Ok, do you have a frying pan, a stove?"

"There's a stove in the corner over there. And I've got this frying pan in my purse at all times."

"What for?"

Her eyes are so wide and real when she looks at me. "The ruffians of course."

"Oh…right." I laugh and roll off the mattress. It feels safe here, so I'll leave the Snuggie behind. "So you know how to make eggs?"

"Nope. All I know how to do is bake pies." She's rolling two eggs around in the pan. Crouching, the newspapers rustling beneath her. All that ink on the bottom of her toes, her fingertips. She'll probably get the shells dirty.

I grab the frying pan, rolling my eyes like Hiccup does. "Just let me do it. How do you like your eggs?"

Another one of those shrugs.

So I just sigh and decide to make them how I like them. Over easy. The stove is hot. I have one of those weird sudden urges. You know what I'm talking about. Like when you're leaning over the edge of something and you have this desire to jump. You're not suicidal or anything. Just normal and confused and human. My elbow is awfully close to the burner. Maybe if I set it down, I could feel the heat and satisfy my curiosity. But I won't. Not here, in the middle of Rapunzel's apartment. She hardly knows me, this strange dude that fell off a balcony and fell asleep on her mattress. This could be a rom/com or a horror movie. Outcome has yet to be determined.

Music makes me jump. She's playing Nightcore. Nightcore, really? Last Resort on crack, digging into the walls and floors. Turning around, I see her there. Dancing and splattering paint all over the wall.

I shout over the music. "The hell are you doing?"

"Having fun! I never get to do this back home!" She laughs and throws her head back, jumping around the room. Mouthing the words, she lets the F-bomb fall from her lips as if she's never said it before. Each chance a heated breath. Smiles bigger than the sun. She revels in this…what is it?

Freedom?

Being able to say something she's probably always wanted to say. I wish I could feel that free. Without noticing it, I have started swaying. What the hell? Hips bounce to the music. See? I've got a pretty nice ass. One that keeps pretty good time. Rapunzel sings louder. Her words are hooks.

Don't know how it happens, but it does. Cooking eggs turns into a head banging session. She's next to me, shaking salt into the pan. We shake in unison. It gets to that one part.

"Keep on bleedin', keep on bleedin', keep on bleedin'!"

With each "bleedin'" she's breaking more eggs over the pan. Then she breaks one over my head. Do the same to her. Yellow yolks frying and burning and sizzling and dropped onto the floor. Shells in our hair as we dance in the corner, next to stove. All of it covered in yellow blood. White flesh, flesh milky, milky eyes swimming and swirling, swirling yolks beneath our feet, feet bounding across the room, room shaking with the weight of words, words about cutting life into pieces, pieces of egg thrown all over the floor, floor swathed with newspapers, newspapers from last Sunday, Sunday…no it's not that time yet, yet I feel like this day is too long, long and blonde and making me lose my mind.

Don't mind the mess. Pink, yellow, black, and red. Colors dripping down, into open holes like open mouths. Egg fights expend the carton. We're left with Styrofoam and a song on an endless loop.

It really is my song. Wish someday would tell me I'm fine. My biggest dream. But people don't do that, walk along the bridge of your life and talk you down whenever you want. I've been standing there for a while. Testing the water, dropping stones into darkness. Each ripple brings those hands back. Grey, groping. I want to see those hands again. I need to see them again. For real.

For now, Rapunzel's hands are real. They spin me around and around. It smells like sweat and burnt eggs in here. Yolks frame our feet. We start screaming the lyrics at each other. She's against the wall. I watch her slide down it, hand reaching, and then she hits the floor as the song dies. A short life. But an epic one. Wait, it's coming back. Reviving itself, the Lazarus song.

Someone is knocking on the door. More like beating it half to death. Rapunzel doesn't seem to notice, so I walk over. Feet slide all over the egg-stained tile. I'm dizzy and full of laughter.

My luck has always sucked, so it's no surprise when I open the door and get punched in the face. Man, this person was ready. Not even waiting to see who it is. I could be an old lady or a little kid. That fist could have just broken my new dentures. Knuckles are thick, digging into my cheek. Notes bore into walls. Bones bore into my face. Eyes closed, I can almost picture my attacker. Probably some short, thick guy with a gold chain around his neck. Plenty of weirdoes live in this building. I'll open my eyes and see a tiny Mafioso in his mid-fifties. And then he'll beat the hell out of me and I'll look pathetic as usual.

It's only a couple of seconds. Open, punch, stagger, gasp. I lean against the doorframe and wipe the blood off my lip. The fist comes again, but this time I'm ready. Dodging under the arm just in time.

"What the hell is your problem?" I tackle them, arms around their waist. And then we fall to the floor. Lying in the middle of the hallway, I've got my knee against their ribs. Seriously, I can see their ribs beneath their skin. Because they're shirtless. And they're not a middle-aged Mafioso, let me tell you that. It's some guy that looks like he jumped out of an Old Spice ad. Nothing but muscles, tattoos, and blue hair. That's…odd. Tribal marks around his arms, traveling up his side. He looks pretty pissed.

So I'm straddling this random guy, cheek pounding, Can't Be Tamed blasting out of Rapunzel's apartment. I really don't know how to feel about this.

Don't have time to feel, anyways.

He flicks me in the ear. "Really, shorty? Are we really doing this right now?" He has a thick accent.

"Shut up, Australian asshole. You started it." I try to act all tough, digging my knee in deeper. He doesn't even flinch.

"Seriously, mate, I'm twice your size."

"Yeah, and you're the one who's pinned. Go figure."

He laughs beneath me. Even his laugh has his stupid little accent. Sounds like a douche to me. "I could push you off with one finger. I'm just being courteous right now, don't wanna embarrass you."

I wish Hiccup was here with his iron-tipped sarcasm. My idea of a comeback is a smirk and flick of my hair.

He laughs even harder. "You're a little prick, aren't you?"

"You're the one who punched me!" I hit him in the shoulder. Once again, unfazed.

"Only because you're being too damn loud!" He sits up and I slide right off him, somersaulting into the wall. "I could hear you blasting your bloody music all the way down the hall. Some people are trying to sleep."

"So you knock on the door and punch whoever opens it? I could've been a girl, douche bag!"

"Sure you aren't a girl, mate? You look like one to me." He grins and runs a hand through that stupid blue hair. He's that jock you hated in high school. The one that beats people up in the locker room and takes P.E way too seriously. I mean, he's wearing a bear claw necklace. Come on. Still, there's something about him...

We start bickering back and forth. He's a douche bag, I'm a fag, apparently. When I pull at his hair, he has a panic attack and shoves me against the wall. Feet off the floor, struggling.

"Let go of me you Smurf!"

"One more word, fairy boy and I'll throw you through this wall." He's glaring at me, growling deep in his throat. Geez, man, no need to Hulk out on me.

"What's going on?" Rapunzel's standing in the doorway. Head to toe egg, her hair sticks together in some places. "Jack, who is this guy?"

"Oh just an old friend. He's come to confess his undying love for me." Hollow laughter followed by an elbow in my throat.

Rapunzel's face is blank. "Let him go. I don't want trouble." Words even, eyes trained on him, the way he moves and breathes.

He chuckles. "Just let us handle this, blondie."

Her eyes widen. "Blondie? Only Jack calls me that. Now drop him, douche bag." It's quick. She kicks him between the legs and catches me when I fall. Like some prince catching the princess as she leaps off her tower. I'm in her arms for a moment. One of those wonderful moments. Egg stickiness, wide green eyes, blood down my chin.

I'm on my feet. The jock with blue hair is kneeling, his head against the wall. "Holy…hell…"

He's breathing like a wounded animal. Certainly twitches like one. Nose scrunching as he makes his way up the wall. His eyes are familiar.

One time, Pitch and I found a wounded rabbit. We were in the forest. Like usual. That dark place where everyone can hide. My black box under the bed. Sheets hanging low, fringed in dust. Our forest was full of rectangle trees. We could have been in a modern art museum. Cut sharp, afraid to touch. Flaking charcoal, don't breathe in too deeply. Leaves blew over black dirt. But it all seemed so fake. Smooth marble, my feet sliding all over. Because he pulled me so hard. Hands interlocked, we ran. Ever since the incident beneath the black tree, we had become something else. Shallow cuts in the bark grew deeper. Pitch dug into me. We hid amidst the leaves. Crispy, smelling of summer, and we rubbed them all over our skin. Or they rubbed themselves all over us. It was just tasting. He always laughed beneath my teeth. Hands over my eyes, on my chest.

He would grab me from behind. "Don't fear the dark, Jack."

I tried not to. I really, really tried. That one time, deep in the forest, my veins full of something else. He led me along the pathway. Straight to this place, our secret spot. Someone abandoned a bed in the middle of the woods. We used to sit beneath it and talk. Arms draped over the railing, rotted wood between me and my legs. Like they weren't connected to my body. Just these sticks that carried me around, followed him wherever he went. I could never escape those grey hands. So when we found the rabbit, broken and bloody beneath the bedframe, I wondered how it got there.

I still do.

"Jack." She touches my arm. Hands so unlike his. "Jack. Hey, you ok? You're all pale."

"What?" I blink and she's in focus.

Those hands touch my face. Yolks make her fingers sticky. "Stop spacing out. We've got to take care of him."

Blue hair is muttering and clenching his fists against the wall. Rapunzel must have kicked him hard.

Shake my head, trying to shake Pitch away. "Uh, I'm fine. Sorry. But what do you mean by 'take care' of him? Like the kind of taking care of that involves a hatchet and a large garbage bag?"

Rapunzel tries not to smile. "Shut up. We're gonna be nice, ok? Sure, he's an asshole, but we can't leave him outside my apartment. It'll look suspicious."

I laugh. "Sounds like you've had experience."

Silence is tangible. Her eyes are empty. "Let's just get him inside."

"Fine by me."

I have to practically drag the guy into her apartment. He's talking about how he'll beat me to a pulp. Then he's whining about how he's tender and how that girl kicks like a jack rabbit. Now he's sitting on the newspapered floor, a bag of frozen peas on his crotch.

"Damn, girl. You're strong. I'm gonna be numb for a week." Toes splay as he stretches his legs. Each joint cracks. I'm reminded of Astrid.

Bending over him makes me feel superior. "So, kangaroo kid, who are you exactly?"

"First of all, that's racist, mate. And second, my name's Aster."

Aster Bunnymund, a name fit for a prostitute. Luckily, he isn't one. Real jobs are much more boring. Grandeur falls from sidewalks lit by starlight. Topples into some craft store down town. Aster is a cashier there. He sells stacks of construction paper to frustrated schoolteachers. Looking at him now, nothing but pajamas and a bare chest, I cannot see him in one of those aprons. The Australian flag covers the pants. Union Jack on the thigh, stars along the shins. His pride is rather…annoying. Yes, annoying. Smug grin framed in stubble. As if he hasn't shaved in days. Those shifts at the craft store must be rough. He apologizes for punching me. Oh geez, thanks. His flexing knuckles make me nervous .

"You should really go to anger management classes." Rapunzel is at the stove, trying to fry one last egg. "Seriously, Aster. You might do something bad and get arrested."

"Already been to prison, love."

"Shocking." I'm cleaning the yolks off the floor. My voice is stiff but inside I'm screaming. He's been to prison, maybe he's seen Pitch, maybe they're friends. No, stop it, Jack. Don't be a moron.

Rapunzel flips the egg. "Why were you in jail?"

"Prison, not jail. There's a difference." His sigh carries across the room. "Here, let me help you. I'm pretty good at cooking eggs."

"Oh, thanks."

Aster bends over the burner. I can tell he's trying to hide something. It's the way he slides his foot down his calf.

Rapunzel isn't giving up. "So why were you in prison?"

"Like you said, sweetheart, I should go to anger management classes. I beat a guy half to death." He must've burned himself because now he's cursing and sucking his fingers.

How blunt. How Australian. Not that I don't like Aussies, but there's just something about this guy. It could just be me, my own paranoid mind. Pitch is still lingering in my thoughts. Grey hands never let go. I keep cleaning. Scrubbing harder and harder with those paper towels that are supposed to be heavy duty. They're pieces of crap, just like every other kind of paper towel.

"Why'd you do it, Aster? Did he hurt someone you love? Because in TV shows a lot of people want revenge, and then they hurt the bad people but go to jail anyways." She holds the paper plate steady, waiting for the fried egg. "I think it's unfair."

She's so innocent it's killing me. I want to cry and laugh and smile all at once. Cleaning has never felt so intense. The paper is ripped. My knuckles scrape against the tile.

"Well, love, that's a story for another time. It's kinda personal, ya know?"

Scraping. Scraping. Scraping.

"Right. Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Scraping. Gritting. Wondering what is wrong with me and why I'm so irritated right now.

"It's all right. Pry all you want. I mean, I did punch your mate in face, so I kinda deserve it."

He laughs, tapping the spatula against his shoulder. She laughs, leaning against the wall with her one fried egg. And then her shirt rides up and the rays of an inky black sun are exposed. So her tattoo is a sun, a gorgeous spiraling sun. Aster's are tribal and black and blue. Similar markings tying them together. Toes rest on her shin. Toes glide along his calf. Sweat heated by steam created by eggs laid by chickens hatched from eggs laid by chickens hatched—

I scrub harder. My mind is going in one giant circle. It keeps running. But it has to stop sometime. Everything gets tired and falls back asleep. It falls and I jump, realizing what my problem is.

Holy crap, I'm attracted to both of them. To quote Dean Winchester, could I be any more gay?

Because in this moment, I am staring at both and realizing how hot it actually is. Warm stoves have nothing to do with it. I sigh. Pitch dreams leave really strange sentiments in my head. For a few hours after I wake up, I always feel dirty. Like I am covered in black sand. Each grain sticks to me. Good thing I'm not a fairy, then I would be compelled to count them all.

Now is really not the time to be questioning my sexuality. But you know what happens when you see that really hot person and you're like "oh crap, they're my same sex". What to do, what to do? Not like doing would be the problem…

"Jack."

My face is on fire when I look up at them. "What?!"

"Geez, mate. Relax." Aster tosses me the roll of paper towels. "Looks like you could use a few of these."

"W-Why? It's not like my nose is bleeding." I start shrugging like crazy and scrubbing with basically nothing.

He raises his eyebrows. "Uh, I thought you might want 'em for the floor."

"Whatever. Thanks." Snatch them up and go to work. These yolks are so slippery. "So, uh, what are we gonna do now? Return to our homes, take cold showers, and go to bed? Sounds good to me."

Aster's laughing again. His hand is as big as my head, I notice that when he ruffles my hair. "You're such a spaz, shorty. Blondie, is he always like this?"

Rapunzel kneels in front of me. She's slowly picking apart the egg. "I wouldn't know. I only met him…today, right?"

"Blimey, and you're already having egg fights in your apartment." Aster's shaking his head, a grin on his face. "You two are odd, I can tell. And you play bloody awful music, but I like ya. I really do."

Oh geez, great. Now I can sit here and stew in my soup of confusing emotions. Someone keeps turning the burner higher and higher. Aster slaps me on the back. I'm sizzling right now.

Rapunzel takes this moment to explain how we met. She describes it in the most embarrassing way. I want to wrap the paper towels around my head and never come out. Little Jack, with his bruised face and swollen ankle. The pathetic puppy of her story. Aster is crying with laughter when she gets to the balcony part. When she's done, I'm still scrubbing and Aster is lying on the blowup mattress. Paint dries on the walls. I've wrapped myself up to my elbows. Quilted Northern isn't the soft. It's just there, hanging off my arms. I roll onto my back and look at the ceiling. Nothing but white. There are colors in my peripherals. This is when I get the idea.

"So, who's up for a little adventure?"

Aster sits up, stretching. "What kind of adventure, mate? I've got work tomorrow."

"Me, too. So nothing drastic. Just a trip across the hall, to my friend's apartment. There's actual food over there and he has Sorry."

"Like the game Sorry?"

"No, I'm just apologizing midsentence." I need Hiccup to do an eye roll. "Of course it's the game, you dumbass. Now let's go. I'm getting tired of smelling eggs."

Getting Rapunzel to leave her apartment is hard. Hard as paint when it dries. And when it does dry, Hiccup gets all pissy because it dried too fast. Now he can't change it. Rapunzel doesn't like change. She stands on the threshold of her door, leaning in and out.

Her eyes are saucers. "Jack, I…I feel safe in here."

"I know, but it's just across the hall. You were walking around all day, remember?" Try to make my smile soft. I'm shaking the black sand off my shoulders.

She shakes her head. "But now I feel safe and leaving would just be…"

"Scary?"

She nods. This conversation is setting itself up. It wants to die. My words form before I notice them.

"Don't fear the dark, Rapunzel."

When she takes my hand I feel my heart beat faster. Out of happiness or guilt, I can't tell. I pull her into the hallway. Strands of blonde linger back for a moment. Don't go, Rapunzel. Stay and be safe. No, she has to go. She needs to feel safe anywhere. The door slams shut behind her, and once again the apartment looks empty.

Inside Hiccup's apartment, she curls up on the pleather chair. Digging her toes into the tattered hole on the footrest. It's how she folds into herself, bent up like a melted candle. I smile at her and offer her the plaid blanket. The one Hiccup bought at that flea market for fifty-nine cents. She smiles back, covering herself and tucking the edges around her body. Aster tucks the eggs around each other. He's at the stove, making us omelets. The second he had seen the chrome and stacks of brown eggs in the fridge, he had insisted on cooking. Now he's wearing Hiccup's apron. It says "Everything tastes better with cat hair!" and falls just above his knees. Too tall for the apron, too tall for the kitchen. He keeps hitting his head on the open cabinets. Me and Rapunzel have already started Sorry. The growing pile of cards is spread all over the board.

"I'm taking your spot, Punzie. Sorry."

Her overdramatic sigh makes me laugh. "Fine, send me all the way back. Ruin the hopes and dreams of a young girl."

"Hey, no pouty face. I don't care how wide you make your eyes; I'm not retracting my last move."

Peering over her cards, she blinks and tries to cry. "But Jack…my dreams."

I groan and run my hands down my face. "Fine. I'll take it back."

Aster's laugh bounces all over the kitchen. "She played you, mate. Now get your ass in here for celebratory omelets."

"But I lost."

He comes out of the kitchen, a tray in hand. "But the beautiful sheila won. These are for her."

Paper plates sag with omelets and tomato slices. They're perfect. Pale yellow, stuffed with peppers, red and green. There's even crumbled bacon on top. I swear, he's a professional chef or something. Mouth full of fluffy egg, I grin and give him a friendly punch in the arm.

"These are fan-freakin'-tastic. "

"Thanks. I take great pride in my cooking." Those green eyes settle on my face. Tongue in between his teeth, he's laughing. "You've some of my masterpiece on your chin, mate. Hold still."

This cannot be happening. Rough fingertips brush my skin. He wipes the egg off with excess force, making my bruised cheek tingle. The sound of his leather skin on mine, dragging and lasting forever. I'm holding back the shiver in my spine. Sandpaper couldn't be rougher. When he moves, the tattoos move with him. Black lightning that spirals. Spirals on Rapunzel's back, everyone inked but me. I decide that I will get a tattoo as soon as possible. What'll it be, Jack? An elephant on my ankle. Wings opening across my back. My favorite quote on the inside of my arm, "to die would be an awfully big adventure". That one would be nice, make me happy for once. I'll get it done after work tomorrow, that's a good idea.

Someone flicks me in the nose. Two someones. It's the both of them.

There's a collective, "Boop."

"Thanks, guys. You know how I love people's fingers in my face."

They fall into hysterics. Rapunzel is a schoolgirl giggling at nothing. Legs tucked under, leaning forward in her desk. Put her in a plaid skirt and stockings and she would pass for a highschooler. Turn the forks into yellow pencils. Give her back her innocence. Aster could be the basketball star. Everyone trails after him like lost puppies. But he only has eyes for one. You can hear his shoes squeaking in the gymnasium. You can hear Rapunzel's paintbrush against the canvas. Look into the art room and she's there, paint up to her elbows. My highschool AU is coming along nicely. Aster ruins it by knocking over the red pieces.

"Crap…I'm sorry." He fumbles with them, his hands shaking.

"Don't worry about it, butterfingers."

"Butterfingers?" Rapunzel repeats the phrase. "That's a funny word. I like it."

She likes a lot of things. We realize this as the night moves on. Pink skies and dancing, suns and curvy handwriting. Green peppers are delicious, but they make her eyes water. She blows her nose into some Puffs tissues and exclaims that they are the softest ever. Low fluorescents cast the best shadows. She changes so much in different light.

Living room: Her face is a moon phase. Full and bright, hanging over us. Half-closed blinds let drops of moonlight in. They scatter across her face. Everything about her pale. Black and white movies will never look the same. Blonde hair silvers in the slats of light. Cold, silky. She runs her hands through it and she is a goddess.

Kitchen: Her eyes are seedless grapes sitting in the bowl. She pulls them off, one by one, popping them into her mouth. Edges are sharper in the kitchen. The fluorescents carve out crevices under her eyes. The tile is blinding. Running water flows over her fingers. She turns the silver faucet with both hands. Severed leeks lie on the cutting board. Fleshy, like limbs. Rapunzel asks for my phone and shows me a post on Tumblr. It's a picture set with the caption, "the tables are turned". Several drawings. Pillows using people in a human-fight. Marshmallows roasting humans over a campfire. She has such a dark sense of humor. It's kinda nice.

Bedroom: Her hair is full of plastic petals. Yellow roses are not possible in nature. I don't know how we got here, but all of us are sitting on the floor. I show them some of Hiccup's drawings. With the light bulb swinging overhead, everything is fake. Stiff curtains move against nothing. Air snakes around our feet. Hiccup's most private pieces are under the bed. I leave those alone. Instead, I go through his sketchbook and find some of my favorites. There's the black dragon. Just the head, with fire surrounding it. Hic loves to study animals, even the imaginary ones. So his studies are always detailed. The light bulb shakes some more.

"Here, this one's my favorite." I pull out the ink drawing of the man walking alone in the desert. No color, just black. Rapunzel gasps and moves closer.

"Wow, it's beautiful."

"Your mate's a great artist." Aster nudges me with his shoulder. "What'd you say he does again?"

"He's a nurse."

Rapunzel pulls the drawing towards her. "Well I think he should quit and become Picasso."

"I'll tell him you said that."

We sit for a while longer. There are a lot of drawings of me. Close-ups of my eyes, the invisible freckles on my nose. One of them is me sitting on a couch, still in my scrubs, asleep.

"You're friend's got a thing for ya." Aster nudges me again. Harder this time.

I laugh hollowly, my face hot. "He has a girlfriend, you pervert. Look, there she is."

We've come to the Astrid obsessed part of his sketchbook. She's everywhere. Face, profile, body, body without a head, just her head, her hands, her feet, her eyes, her lips pulled back by her teeth. Turn the page and there's a nude Astrid stretched out across the paper. Rapunzel yelps. I quickly try to shut the book, Aster begging for one more look.

Midnight eventually comes around. The alarm clocks beeps once. Has Saturday really come to an end? It's felt like forever. Falling off the balcony and meeting Rapunzel, all of that happened in one day. How? Sunday is here. Which means work is in a few hours. Astrid, Merida, and Tooth are probably celebrating another MMA win. Can't blame them. And poor Hiccup is most likely asleep behind a counter. I've always appreciated having Saturdays off. Even if I am still on-call.

Aster starts yawning at twelve-fifteen. "I've gotta get going. I'm restocking the fabric aisle tomorrow."

"I'm performing live-saving surgeries tomorrow, and I'm still awake."

He snorts. When he stretches, he looks at least a foot taller. "Still a little prick, huh? But I've seriously got to go. It's been fun."

I stand up. "At least let me walk you to the door, dear sir."

He bows. I curtsy. Great, now I'm like his little bitch. Our grand exit is cut short when the front door opens. It's Hiccup, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He tosses his keys onto the counter. They fall off. He doesn't bother to pick them up. Aster grabs them instead.

"Oh, hello, mate. The name's Aster."

Hiccup looks from me to Aster, then back to me. His eyes are half-open. "Jack, what the hell is going on. And why does it smell like eggs in here?"

My face is serious as possible. "There was a chicken invasion. Now go take a shower and go to bed. You've had a long day."

* * *

Hic tries his best to be courteous to Aster. He's tired. Purple half-moons beneath his eyes. Like Rapunzel, he is a moon phase. The half-moon. Aster is a crescent. I am a new. Hiccup shakes Aster's hand, thanks him for hitting me in the face, and sees him out. Before the door closes, Aster waves goodbye.

"I'm just down the hall, last door on the left if you wanna hang out again. See ya, shorty!"

It's shut. Hiccup turns to me. I get a you're-a-moron look and a sideways hug.

"Feeling better?"

"Yep. It was just exhaustion."

Even when tired, he sees right through my bullshit. "You sure about that?"

"Positive."

"Whatever you say, Jack. I'm going to bed now, but we aren't finished. I've got something to tell you tomorrow. Don't let me…" He pauses. Green eyes caught on something.

"What?"

"There's a girl behind you, Jack."

Turning around, I see Rapunzel standing in the doorway. Something she seems to do quite a bit.

"Um, hi."

"Hello there." Hiccup glances between us. He mouths, "Is that her?"

I nod, walking backwards. She is easy to find. Just offer my hand. Wait for her to grab it. She does.

"Hic, this is Rapunzel. The one that saved me after I fell off the balcony."

Tiredness melts away. Dimples appear on his cheeks. "So you're Jack's guardian angel. It's nice to meet you, I'm Hiccup."

I watch her repeat that phrase over and over again. Just like the butterfinger. "Guardian angel…that's so nice. Thank you."

"Well, you did help my idiot friend out, so you've earned the title."

A giggle. A hair pull. "If I'm a guardian angel, then I'm like Castiel from Supernatural."

Hiccup's jaw drops. Seriously, I'm scooping it off the ground now with both hands. That would be hilarious.

"You watch Supernatural?"

"Yeah, it's my favorite show, actually."

He grips my shoulder tight. "You hear this? She's perfect. I have already decided." He smiles at Rapunzel. "You are my new favorite person, after Astrid, of course."

"You remind me of Sam. Brown hair, pretty eyes, and you seem really smart." She looks at me before Hic can respond. "And Jack is like Dean. Tough on the outside, but not so much in here."

A finger on my chest. Then her whole hand. For a second, maybe a year, we stand. Her palm trembles against me. It happens again. I look at her and see myself. Seeing pieces of your soul in another is terrifying. It's also beautiful, too. Because you are no longer alone. Questioning reality doesn't matter anymore because they are there and real. Pieces fall together as they're tossed around the toy box. We slide and struggle. We share a special connection. Suffering. But suffering makes us human. Suffering is good. Without it, how would you know if you even have a soul?

Aster knocks over the red pieces.

Hiccup knocks over our special moment.

"Yeah, he's definitely like Dean. A pie-loving asshole that won't admit how gay he really is."

If Astrid was here, I'd have her hit him for me. But I have to settle with one of my lazy punches. "What's your problem, man?"

He shrugs. "I'm tired, ok? It's twelve-thirty and my brain is overworked. My neurons need to sleep."

"Then go and let them sleep."

"I shall." He gives a short nod. "Rapunzel, it was lovely meeting you. Have a marvelous night."

"Thanks. Sleep well." Her smile is small and so adorable.

Hiccup nods again. I think he's trying not to fall asleep while standing up. "Yeah…thanks. See you guys later…" Each step towards the bedroom is heavy. He walks out of shoes. They're tossed beneath the bar stool.

Within the four seconds of him trudging to the door, I am already thinking about him, Rapunzel, and I as Team Free Will. Us in Supernatural? That would be the most epic thing ever. Here's what I've thought of so far for episode one:

_Dented door equals imminent death. That kind of groove that only a thick head could make. And that is what Jack would say, isn't it? He'd blame Hiccup's thick head and tell him to get a damn haircut already. It's been, what, almost three months since his last one? Those wavy locks are looking ridiculous._

_Jack is always pulling at the flyaways. When Hiccup goes to smooth them down, he says, "Dude, could you get any more gay?"_

_Too long silence results in fingers tapping the steering wheel, Jack's eyes flitting back and forth. Then a muttered, "Uh, don't answer that."_

_Hiccup rolls his eyes. It's not his fault everyone they meet confuses them for a gay couple. It's just the way they look. Jack is such a butch. All angry with his glare that could freeze water. Brown hair slightly overstyled, clothes slightly overwashed. Because he wears the same clothes almost all the time. His hoodie isn't sentimental, though. No way. It's just "practical". Not a good luck charm either. It's a "talisman with a good record of keeping me safe so I'm gonna wear it now piss off" kind of hoodie. The necklace tucked beneath his shirt is different. He never talks about that. One rule when it comes to Jack, if he doesn't talk about it, it's important. Same with his feelings and all of that sissy stuff Hiccup is always trying to dig up._

_"How you feeling, Jack?"_

_"Fine."_

_"No, seriously. How are you feeling?"_

_"I said I'm fine. Wanna drop it, Hic?"_

_Eye roll. "Come on, you're not fine. You just saw (insert some kind of awful death scene that involves either an old friend, a person they couldn't save in time, or a hot chick that could've been Jack's next rendezvous). Don't tell me you're fine."_

_"If I say I'm fine, I'm fine. Shut up already."_

_"But—"_

_"Shut up, Hic."_

_Eight hours in the car can feel like forever. Hiccup learns that whenever he makes Jack mad. But no matter, he'll just curl up against the window and pretend to sleep. Arms wrapped around himself, overgrown hair in his eyes as he watches the trees go by outside. Just a green and brown blur that could honestly be anything. A town, a city, one of those gas stations that doesn't sell pie and makes Jack even madder than Hiccup does sometimes. A pie-less gas station? What in the hell is that? It's a piece of crap, that's what it is._

_Another thing, don't mention pie around Jack. The very thought is enough for him. He'll grab it right out of your imagination and shove it down his throat, imaginary filling and all. There go your pie dreams, gone forever. Snow cones are another thing. Anything with ice or cold attached to the name. Slathered with syrup, he'll try to suck them down before they melt. Letting it drip into his mouth, then sucking on the end._

_Hiccup laughs. "Could you get any more gay?"_

_There's that glare, the one that could freeze water. "You're treading on thin ice, Hic."_

_"Like you that one time?"_

_A snow cone to the face can hurt like hell. Especially when Jack chucks it with his good arm, the one he's always swinging back._

_Why does he do that again?_

_Oh yeah, because he's always stabbing things with that knife. Not things like pie or snow cones or old cassette tapes he scatters all over his car. Scary things. Evil things. Ghosts and demons and shapeshifters and monsters and God knows what else. He's up to his elbows in blood half the time._

_So is Hiccup._

_But why the hell is it like this? Where did it all start? Now is the car with the dent that Hiccup is trying to hide. Now is the eight hours of driving and the maps strewn across the hotel room. Now is the worry, the fear, the anger that drives the car and them. Now is this. But then was different._

_As Hiccup hides dents and pretends to sleep, he thinks of then._

_How it all began one night in his dorm room at MIT. A soaking wet Jack, a knife, something about a Night Fury, and the words that killed Hiccup._

_Killed his social, emotional, and spiritual life, basically. Because they've both died too many times in real life to take it seriously._

_That night, Jack tore his brother to pieces and left his conscious raw. Sibling murder right then and there. Words of guilt, calling him back. Slowly, slowly leading him down that long stretch of road towards eight hour drives and glove boxes full of knives. Jack's words tore him away._

_Standing in the darkness, the rain still beating the window. Jack's hair is stuck to his face._

_"Hey, Hic. Dad's on a hunting trip... and he hasn't been home in a few days."_

Good Lord, that is perfection. Hiccup slams the door and I'm ripped away from my beautiful AU of demon hunting and sexy angels descending from the sky. I'm back now. It's just me. But not really. Rapunzel is here.

Rapunzel and I are left alone. We stand in the middle of the tile. Funny, her hand is still on my chest. I try hard to keep it in focus. It keeps turning grey. It's her hand though, not his. Still, my mind is playing tricks.

"So, you want to play Sorry again? This time, no pouting."

She smirks. A thing I have never seen her do. But after all, I've only known her for one day. It's felt like forever.

"Fine. One more game. Then I'm going to sleep."

"Ok. I'll walk you back over later, make sure you're safe."

She shakes her head. "No, I think I'll just sleep wherever my head falls. I like that pleather chair. And that blanket is really warm. Warmer than what I have. Would Hiccup mind?"

She's asking to spend the night. Holy crap, holy crap, what do I do? It's nothing dirty, obviously. Friends can have sleepovers whenever they want. I shake my head, trying to control my smile.

"No, he won't mind. He's passed out in his room."

Her eyes light up. "Cool." She sets up the board with sudden excitement. A yellow piece is in her hand. "Now, I'll be yellow. You have red, green, and blue. Which one will you choose, Jack?"


	5. Treatment Stage 4: Begin Rewarming

**A/N: Yes, I am updating this fic within a month of the last update! Hooray, I made my deadline ^^. So, hello there, readers. Long time no see. This chapter is 8,638 words instead of 10k...sorry. But still, it's pretty long ^^". Anyways, I hope you all really enjoy this chapter. It has a pretty big plot twist, so pay attention (it's pretty obvious, so you won't miss it xD). There's a little AU in here, like in every other chapter haha. The AU comes from a HiJack fic I was going to write but it just didn't work out, so I worked parts of it into this fic.**

**Anywho, onto the chapter: This chapter contains actual hospital work, some surgeries, a cameo appearance by a RotG character, a big revelation, a wire hanger, a Lana Del Rey themed AU based off the 1960's movie Lolita (haven't seen the film but Lana does some great music about it), a massage scene, a Jackunzel scene, and somewhat of a cliff hanger (I apologize).**

**Please, enjoy and drop a review if you can :).**

**-Alice**

* * *

Sleeping on the job is unacceptable. Hiccup tells me this as I brush my teeth. He yawns and settles back into the mattress, hair looking like it barely survived a leaf blower attack. Easy for him to say, all wrapped up with nowhere to go. I throw a toilet paper roll at the Hiccup burrito and leave. Annoying him is my goal today. So I take his car without asking. Feet in the seat, smearing fingerprints on the glass. Yeah, he'll be pissed.

Clear sunlight keeps me awake as I drive. It's that weird time of day. When everything is halved and no human should be awake. Hot puddles from a rain that apparently fell last night. I wouldn't know. I closed the blinds before going to bed. Minutes turned to hours as I watched Rapunzel sleep in the white chair. Like a creeper, eyes atop my arms, I watched and wondered at how small a creature she really was. How her shoulders rocked. How strands of blonde suctioned against her lips, then went back out again. Pink upper, peach lower. Two halves sown together to make this…this masterpiece. They must feel so soft, tasting overripe.

There I go again with my creeper vibes. But is watching someone so strange? Sure, she was unconscious and deep in REM sleep, so her body was probably paralyzed, but it's not that weird. Her paralyzed body is really cute. It kept me up all night. That and a mix of Pitch dreams. More like memories billowing with color. Coats in the middle of Fall. Flags in the beginning of December. I used to watch the American flag out in the schoolyard. From the back of the classroom, I could see it spattered with snow. White snow, red stripes of blood, blue fields of butterflies. Memories have colors. Colors have tastes. Sometimes I wish I had synesthesia. Then I could remember the taste of cold rain whenever I see baby blue. Or dead leaves in my mouth whenever I see amber. Grey is a strange one. Ash and burnt cookies. The kind I used to bake for Pitch on Friday nights.

But don't think about that. Last night, his cookie crumbs forced me into a coughing fit. Damn idiot, he kept me up all night.

I'm nodding off when I walk into the hospital. Inwardly yawning is an awkward thing. Like when you shove a wrinkly dollar into a vending machine. People behind you start to sigh. There is a lot of sighing in a hospital. The inside of a refrigerator is a happier place. Merida is following a doctor into surgery. Sometimes I wish she only worked with me, then I'd have a familiar face in the operating room. She looks at me and I know that she is smiling behind her facemask. Crinkles in between her eyes. She waves to me even though professionalism is at stake.

Professionalism, as if she really cared about that. Last night, when she, Tooth, and Astrid returned from another epic MMA fight, professionalism certainly wasn't a priority. Rapunzel curled up in the pleather chair, Hiccup passed out in bed. I was half-asleep on the couch, hand touching the floor. They burst in like demons out of Hell, or maybe into Hell, depending on how you look at it. But they were loud, that's a fact. Astrid flinging sweat everywhere. All shiny and red-faced, they shouted about winning and punching and kicking other people's asses. Merida and Tooth ran their hands up and down Astrid's abs, then they laughed, hugging her. It turned into red making out with rainbow. Leaning backwards on the bar stool, kissing. Through cracked eyelids, I watched them. It was hot…really, really hot. No professionalism there. Just hands slick as ivory. Hair tangled as Slinkys. Knee shoved up between thighs, rubbing against those black lace panties I've seen in Merida's hamper before. Chipped nail polish flaking. Broken hair spiraling. Towards the floor, towards the bare skin beneath all kinds of material. Gossamer silk, ripped cotton, holy panty hose. Not so holy, not anymore. I tried really hard not to say anything. I rolled over, feigning sleep.

What a night, lacking in professionalism. Full of something better.

So Merida's wave means a lot more than hello. It makes me smile.

I wave back, stifling another yawning. Sleeping during surgery would not be the best. It's like sleeping during sex, cruel to your partner, awkward for anyone who walks in. Yawning's awkward, sleeping's awkward. Everything is. The way my hands move as I dig into this one guy. Lungs pink and wet. Not as pink as Rapunzel's lips, though. Never. Cutting keeps me awake. Sowing people up is my least favorite part, so I hand it off to a surgical resident. Faceless nurses hand me tools, adjust the anesthetic, tell me things that I can't remember. This is why no one talks to me. I sink into my frozen lake, gliding across the patient, skating and ignoring everything else. They are empty heads. No one seems real. Just the person on my operating table, their life in my hands. They'll live today. I feel it. No ravens on my drive here.

Another surgery. Open heart, closed mouth. The family sure is nervous. But it's nothing. Really, it's not a big deal. Just a bypass surgery that takes me about four hours. I open the chest. There's so much color, reds and blues, blinding white. I touch them all up, dot by dot. He lives. Hooray. When the family smiles, I mirror them. But it's just a reflection. The rest of my day is disjointed. Knee replacements are mismatched bottle caps on a case of glass Diet Cokes. Sixty to ninety minutes, I'm done. Sudden car accidents are filled with bodies already torn up. There's blood all over the gurney. Thank God that isn't my job today. I'm just doing scheduled surgeries. My break is nonexistent and my day is long. My gloves are painted red and my mind colored white. My scrubs are blue and my cheeks are pink.

Again, synesthesia would be fun right now. Merida passes me in the hallway, red curls poking out. She smells like antiseptic, hopefully no one died today. If I was a nurse, I'd have more time to talk. Not that nurses don't do any work, they just have more…time. If Merida's patient dies, well, it's not really her patient. It's the surgeon's. It's the surgeon's fault. My fault. She gets to wheel Mrs. Moreno down to her new bed, talking in the elevator and smiling. I never talk to the patients. But I guess that's my fault, like a lot of other things. Oh stop being emo, Jack. Do your job, save people's lives. They're pushing me extra hard today, four surgeries instead of the typical two. I'm sweating in this frickin' oven that's colder than a refrigerator and hotter than the sun. Some nurse I've never met finds me leaning against a wall.

"Doctor Overland?"

"Huh?"

"The patient is ready for preparation."

"All right, I'll be there."

"Yes, Doctor."

Our conversation is hollow.

My next patient has an early stage stomach tumor. Walking to their room, I see them in medical terms. Partial resection. Open with no lymph node dissection. Two hours, no complications, no—

It's a her, not a they. This patient has a face and a smile. Even if it's rough, brows thick, heavy atop her eyes. Harvest moons look like that when they rise. She's tired, I can always see it in their eyes. She combs her fingers through her messy brown hair.

"So you're my doctor."

I nod, careful not to get too close to the bed. "Yes, I am." Her gaze makes me uncomfortable. "So…this surgery shouldn't take more than two hours. Have any questions, concerns?"

"You're awfully young."

Moons focusing on my face that still bears a shadow of a bruise. This middle-aged woman stares and assesses me. She sighs and leans back against the bed.

"You've got experience, right?"

"Of course." Maybe my tone is a little harsh. Whatever. "Look, ma'am, I'm basically the best surgeon in this hospital. You've got nothing to worry about."

She bursts out laughing. "Is that so? At least you're confident, that's refreshing." She nudges a pile of coats sitting beside her. "Hey, Sandy, you catch that? He's the best surgeon here."

The pile of coats is actually a man. He's asleep, tucked beneath two jackets. She elbows him, pulling him out of sleep. It's hard. He keeps nodding off, horn-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. I never noticed him until now.

"Sandy, wake up. You're mother's about to go into surgery. Oh good Lord, Sandy!"

The more he raises his head, the less he looks like a man. Upright and he can't be more than twenty. Old man glasses and shaggy blond hair combed back, his sweater one of those bad Christmas gifts. Poor kid needs to get a stylist or something. He rubs his eyes, yawning. It's contagious. Holding it back makes my eyes water, my nose itch. But this woman can't see her surgeon yawning, that's just…unprofessional.

The kid called Sandy smiles up at me. The cold hospital turns his cheeks red. Marble eyes, round cheeks, I think about those cherub dolls.

My sister had eyes like that. I smile back. "Uh, don't worry about your mom. I'll take good care of her."

He takes out a pen and pad of paper. Handwriting large and curling every which way.

-Thanks. I trust you, Doctor.

Seeing those words is a lot different than hearing them. They're tangible proof that I'm not really alone. I should grab that lineless paper and keep it forever. Written words take more time than spoken. When you waste time for me, I like you a little more. Because then I'll try my best to give you that time back. That's what my job is, returning time.

"My son can't speak, Doctor. Sorry about his fancy handwriting. I'm always telling him, 'enough with the cursive!'" She laughs and pinches his cheek.

"It's fine. I think his handwriting is nice, very professional."

His smile widens. Some more writing.

-Thank you. You're a nice person, I can tell.

Holy crap, I think I'm about to cry. This kid with his words. Silence is so much more intimate. The silence between two lovers, you and I panting, post-coital. The silence between siblings after a stupid fight. Now I see the silence that is permanent, a person that lives it, breathes it, and will never leave it. He embraces the voiceless and wastes his time for me. This kid…why does he affect me? I smile at him as I head off to the operating room.

Silence during surgery is different this time. I feel almost relaxed. Ping of metal against metal. It rings in my ear and reminds me of a piano tuner. Metronomes swing back and forth. Blue silence found in slipping veins and arteries, all of it reminding me of another thing. Two somethings, one happy, one sad.

First: Once upon a time, Merida and I went to Scotland. She wanted to bring me to her homeland. We've been friends since med school. One sweaty summer, she decided that Scottish mists were more appealing. Hell yeah, anyplace is better than here. We walked up Arthur's Seat. I slipped at the top, just my luck. Bruising my ass. There was this Mormon choir that had walked up together. All dressed up in white long sleeves and black slacks. I was sweating like a husband caught cheating and these people were dry and happy, their shoes shiny. What the hell? Merida's hair was wild and full of dew. On the way down, we passed fields of high grass. I just wanted to take a picture of myself. Up there, in the high hills of Scotland, the mist rolling and the grass looking so soft. In movies, people run through it effortlessly. I tried that. My feet got tangled up in the knotted stems. But the tops of the blades are soft. Softer than I thought. Walking down the hill, my body leaned back; I ran my hands across them. Cats feel like this. Finely brushed tails. These kernels made my palms tingle. So I sat in a patch, letting my knees collapse into them. They fell flat beneath my legs. I thought of a crop circle and then a cattail and then a golden field of wheat. What is this stuff? Wheat? Whatever it is, it called me. When something looks so soft, so real, so golden that you just want to touch it. I sat there for a while. Silence filled my ears. Merida laughed and called to me from a distance. Dew made my knees all wet, my hands, too. Against my face, puffy cattails minus the wide eyes and quiet meows. They tickled my cheeks. My time with them has to be documented, so let's take a picture. A selfie that makes me look transported. Another time, another place. Maybe it could be a self-portrait in Middle Earth. After a long trek across the wilderness, I have come to rest amongst the grass. Orcs are approaching, but I don't care. I take a picture of myself before the heat of battle. So I'll aim the camera high and hope I get a good shot.

That's a happy memory. Silence at the top of a mountain is awesome.

Second: Once upon a time, Pitch and I lay in silence. Beneath a black, a black something. Not a tree. It had many blades that spun slowly. My childhood bedroom was painted blue. Not so childish anymore. He snuck in through the open window. Throwing pebbles at the glass that had already been broken a dozen times. The duct taped never did any good. Moldy tennis balls rolled across my carpet, his wet shoes making puddles on the floor. He smiled at me and came onto me with those grey hands. One of my biggest regrets in life is succumbing to darkness. Succumbing to him. Fingers pulling at the flannel shirt half-tucked into my jeans. Seatbelt unbuckled, all of him moving closer and closer in the blue dark that tasted like rain. I sat down on the edge of my bed. Sheets crinkled in my fists. The Spiderman sheets that I kept from the age of nine onward. Pitch took away my nine-year-old self. He ripped little Jack out through the buttons and zippers. And I let him. That's the sad part, the sad, sick part that haunts me every day. Then I start to wonder what would happen if I told my friends. If Rapunzel found out, would she hate me? Back slowly away, calling me disgusting? Acceptance is so important to me. Something so important that I never talk about it. Ever. My friends, they would never look at me the same. Hiccup would probably cry, feeling sorry for me. But then again, Merida would understand. But maybe not. I'm…different. Me being any more than a skirt-chasing man would tear our reality apart. So forget it. Whatever. That night, lying in silence and watching the fan, all of it can just be a dream. How he ran his hands through my hair. How he held my blushing face against his chest, my teeth clenching. Legs struggling to find each other in the dark. At last touching, intertwining and feeling so cold, so soft. All of that just a dream…

"Sutures are in place, Doctor. The patient is stable."

A nurse is telling me about Sandy's mom.

I nod to him and the rest of the nurses. "Good work, everyone." That's really all I have to say.

When I go in to check on Sandy's mom, a decision I had trouble making, she is awake. Soft smile, warm, rising eyes.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good. A little sore."

"That's to be expected. No need to worry about that."

"Of course not, Doctor. How could I be worried after having 'the best surgeon in the hospital' operate on me?"

She laughs. I laugh. Sandy holds up another one of his signs.

-You saved my mother's life. Thank you.

I want to tell him the truth, that any surgeon could have successfully removed that miniscule tumor. That her life was never in jeopardy because of early detection and proactivity and all that stuff. But I just nod and bask in the silence. Sweet silence full of rising moon eyes. White sheets are snow laden valleys. IV's are spider webs glistening on a branch. Silence gives us time to imagine. And in the silence, we find impossible things.

Like Rapunzel sitting in the passenger's seat of Hiccup's car when I'm ready to go home. I open the door and she's there, bare toes pressed against the windshield.

"What the hell?"

She crosses her arms, grinning. "That is no way to greet a lady."

"You're right. It's a way to greet an intruder, which you are. Seriously, what are you doing in my car?"

Small white teeth biting her lip, toes curling. "This isn't your car."

I roll my eyes, Hiccup style. "Whatever. But how did you get here? Did you walk all the way from the apartment?"

Her laugh is full of sunshine. "No, no, don't be silly. I felt like seeing you, so Aster drove me here."

"So where's Aster?" I'm slowly getting into the car, almost like I'm afraid she'll attack.

"He dropped me off and then went shopping. I think he has to pick up some groceries or something." She shrugs and sinks deeper into the seat. "But does it really matter? Where he is, what he's doing?"

"Uh, I guess not." Fingers trying to insert the keys without looking. "But how did you get inside the car?"

She holds up a wire hanger. There's my answer.

"Oh. I didn't know you were an expert at grand theft auto."

Another shrug. "I have my secrets. Now close the door."

Fine, I close it. But what the hell is going on? Bare toes turning red against the glass, teeth biting and chewing and eyes going wide like a cat in the dark. That grin looks more like a shaking grimace, that sunshine streaming through the eye of a hurricane. And I'm getting this creeping feeling down my neck that's all too familiar. Close the door…close the door? Why? Why would she care what I do? Why are my thoughts so damn paranoid? What is going on?!

So I ask her. "Rapunzel, what's going on? You're kinda creeping me out." Awkward laugh follows. HA. HA. HA.

Her eyes are bigger than ever. Hands tangle in her lap. "Look, Jack. I've really liked hanging out with you. Meeting you was awesome, really. But something's been bothering me, a secret I've been keeping. And I have to tell—"

"What are you talking about?"

"You…"

"Rapunzel, you're freaking me out."

Turn those green stars to me. Supernovas in the sky. "Don't fear the dark, Jack."

…huh? Wait, what? Each word is stretched out. Digging deep into my neck, blood rushing, heart pumping. It's spoken through years, jumping over black trees and through broken windows. She's a cold, hard puppet with blonde threads smashed against the seat. Is it possible for a dead person to speak through another? Someone dead to me, dead to the world. Rapunzel…why are you saying this?

I open my mouth, nothing comes out.

"I recognized you when you said that to me. Last night. In the hall. You told me not to fear the dark and I knew it was you…you're the one he's looking for." Bite lip, pull thread, everything dropping ten degrees.

I say nothing. She twists a strand of blonde around her finger until the tip turns white.

"I know what you're thinking, Jack. 'Who's he?' So I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything."

This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening.

"When we first met, I told you that I was a runaway. And it's true. My mother and I lived in an apartment, she needed money and I was good at dancing. I mean, I'm still good at dancing, but you get what I'm saying. So I danced for her boyfriend and he paid my mother for the…show. And then she told other men about me and my show and they paid her, too. She made so much money, a certain man became interested in her, her business. He said he was one of those pimp people, and that I was really pretty, so he wanted me to work for him." A shrug, a fat tear rolling down her face. "And what was I supposed to say? I couldn't say no. I mean, how could I stand up to him and my mother? She needed the money. She needed it really bad. It really isn't her fault…he took advantage of her."

"And you." I've finally found my words.

She nods, then shakes her head. "He just wanted the best for me, he said he liked me…but then again, he brought me to the ugliest, the meanest people…"

I swear I've never noticed the scars on her shins and under her forearms. It's like the words bring them out. Each sentence turning them whiter, brighter. The long line running up her thigh, disappearing into her shorts.

When she sniffs, her whole body shivers. I offer her a tissue from the box under the front seat. Hiccup always keeps them there, I don't really know why.

"Thanks…I just haven't ever said any of this out loud, so it's hard."

"No. Don't apologize. It's fine." My speech sounds robotic.

She shakes her head again. "No, it's not fine, because I should be apologizing. I should be begging you for forgiveness." And with that she starts crying again, the tears streaming.

"Why? I don't understand."

"Because I knew who you were after I met you on the stairs!" She covers her face with both hands, kicking the glass with both feet. Then she's slowly peeking through. "Obviously at first I didn't recognize you because you look so much younger in the picture he gave me, but after you fell asleep on my mattress and I looked at you and compared faces, I realized. And when you told me, 'don't fear the dark, Rapunzel' I was positive who you were…and still, I said nothing and acted all, all fake like those stupid cheerleaders in high school. I…tricked you."

This is all a joke, right? Her words fall flat in front of me, landing in my lap. I stare at them, unable to blink or breathe or think. "What picture? What trick? What kind of stupid ass prank is this, Rapunzel?"

Her gasp catches in her throat, her whole body against the window, her cries reminding me of lost puppies. "I-It's not a prank. I swear to God, it's not a prank. It's this picture. Here, look at it. Take it, please. It makes me feel so guilty."

The photo she thrusts into my hand is a Polaroid. Bent edges, torn down the middle then taped back together. It's a meticulous taping job. No…there's no way.

I'm almost afraid to turn it over. Because I know what this is. The date written in black ink, the handwriting that makes my insides prickle. And prickle and prickle and churn and swirl and spin until my eyes are burning, my stomach's twisting. It's all I can do to not throw up here and how. All over Hiccup's dash. He would be so pissed. So damn pissed. Once I turn it over, I have to roll down the window. I can't hold it back. It tastes like sour lemonade.

Rapunzel's sobbing next to me, pulling at her hair and pinching her cheeks. I roll the window back up and wipe my mouth with one of those tissues. "Stop. Just stop it, Rapunzel."

She keeps crying.

"Stop."

Keeps crying.

"Stop."

Keeps.

"Stop."

Crying.

"Stop!"

With each word I hit the steering wheel. "Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

Slapping palms against black. Digging toes into brown. A few Three Musketeer wrappers, some dust, some stuff that shouldn't be there. Because Hiccup is clean and this car is dirty. I'm dirty. Sitting in this car, it rejects me. The photo is on the center console. I'm in it, no surprise. Faded smile, flat eyes looking at nothing. I think I'm sixteen, maybe seventeen. My hoodie oversized, my pants too tight. But that isn't what bothers me. That isn't what's wrong. It's the person standing next to me. Pitch looks the same, the exact same. And I want to die.

I turn to Rapunzel, breathing hard, clutching my chest. "Why…why do you have this? Why, Rapunzel? Seriously, why do—"

"He gave it to me, ok!" She hits the window, stamps her feet. "He gave it to me, I took it. There's nothing else to say!"

"Who is 'he'?"

"You know who he is, Jack!"

"Just say the name, damnit!"

"Pitch! It was Pitch Black, ok?"

That name. That name. It makes my gut double knot, my knuckles whiten, my thighs catch fire. She spits it at me, the glass fogging with her words. Because his name is heat itself. Condensation dripping down. Wet on my cheeks. Or maybe those are tears. I place my forehead on the steering wheel and take deep breaths. They're not deep enough.

"Ok, ok…I just…oh my God." Another not so deep breath. "H-How do you know him? Where did you meet him? He's…he's in prison, he's in prison. I know he is."

Head shaking back and forth, eyes red. "No, he's not. His sentence was shortened, he was let out last year. I met him by chance, really. Just a random ex-convict that turned into a pimp. I was just another employee, that's it. And then he told me he was looking for someone and he gave me that photo. Told me I was to keep an eye out for the boy in the picture, said that he was a 'special client'. I had no idea I'd actually meet him, meet you…"

"But Hiccup's apartment building. Why'd you move in? Is it some kind of trap, were you waiting for me?"

"No! God, no!" Her voice breaks, neck constricting, chest heaving. "I just had enough of dancing and feeling bad all the time, so I ran. I left my mother…left her with him, that monster."

"He's not a monster!" It's out before I can stop it. I'm screaming at her, hitting the wheel, the tears coming no matter how hard I try to stop them. "He's not!"

Rapunzel grabs me by my scrubs. It hurts to move. To think. To breathe. To dream. We're nose to nose.

"Yes he is!"

"No he's not!"

"He beat me with a coat hanger once!"

"He stabbed me in the stomach with a kitchen knife!"

"Then why the hell do you defend him?"

"Because I love him!"

Silence.

This is the kind of silence that comes at a funeral. Heated silence between pauses in an argument. Cold silence after committing murder. This silence is a curse. What have I done? What kind of a world is this? A messed up one, a very messed up one. The worst game ever made that cannot be deleted or erased or destroyed or forgotten, ever. My ears are ringing so loudly, don't stop, don't stop. Faster and faster. Allegro, allegro. What is happening? Ears are ringing, ears are ringing. Bones trembling, DNA splitting. A strand of blonde. A fleck of green. A gasp pressed in between.

In between my vertebrae. Like scalpels into skin and bone saws into ribs. It twists me into this shape against the steering wheel. Molded, wax melting off a candle. And everything hurts. Toes buzzing with sleep, stomach tightening and tightening and tightening. My organs are crumpled pieces of paper shoved into a rubber glove.

Words of the present: Hopeless. Now is tied up with black string and shoved beneath the bed. Mortification. Now is shriveled up in the sun. Anger. At Rapunzel. At myself. Now is throwing a tantrum in the corner of the room. Sick. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Now is hiding in its foxhole, and it never, ever wants to come out.

"Jack."

Her voice doesn't even sound real.

"Jack. Look at me."

"…No."

"Just look at me. No judgment. No feelings, no anything. Just look at me."

"But—"

"Don't talk. Just look."

Her fingers touch my jaw. I try really hard not to flinch. They're cold beams of sunshine. The kind you love and hate. She turns my face towards her. Don't look, don't look. My cheeks are burning, my heart is banging and I'm afraid it will leap out of my chest. A nervous glance. I can see myself in her wide green eyes. I look so out of place.

"Just look, Jack." She moves closer. And closer. "We both need to just stop and look. Realize that we're both running from the same person. Hell, we're even running from the same thing."

"What would that be?"

"Shame."

That's a word that makes me feel all sticky inside. Skin hot beneath my scrubs. Fog on the window. She pushes her forehead against mine and closes her eyes.

"Just listen to the silence. We're sitting in a car in the edge of a parking lot. No one's around. No one's judging or staring. Do you feel ashamed right now?"

I feel myself against the window. Cool glass shielded by overhanging branches. Smudged fingerprints and condensation, and when you look outside you see the world through a lined filter. My filter. Rapunzel's filter. Seats are warm from minutes, hours, years of sitting and talking. The car is pressed into the tree line, alone and invisible. No one around. No one to judge. I look at Rapunzel.

"No. I don't."

"Good. You need to feel unashamed all of the time. You need to be honest." Her breath lingers on my face. She's right there, so close. I can't see her eyes, they blur into kaleidoscopes. Foreheads still touching, I feel her smile. "And you can't help who you love. So I'll help you find him, if you want. Then maybe you can let him go. And someday, maybe you'll love me."

Feel the tear roll down her face.

And then she kisses me. Out of nowhere. Swooping down, peach and baby pink touching my lips. One at a time, soft and tender like bruises. The thick bottom lip touches my teeth. It's lighter than air, quicker than lightening. I taste her for a moment. Sunshine and paint and dust motes swirling in her apartment. A spark tickles my spine, moving up into my chest, down into my pelvis. But only for a fraction of a second. Still, it's so powerful. And then it's gone and she's gone, the car door slamming shut behind her.

I catch a glimpse of the sun tattoo. The real sun shines overhead. One blink, she's nothing but a smudge running across the parking lot. I'm starting to think Aster didn't bring her here. Watching those long legs, how fast she sprints and disappears behind the cancer treatment facility. She ran here, I know she did.

The wire hanger is in the passenger's seat. I look at it and feel sick again. But I end up throwing it in the back, promising myself two things. Two things I'll never repeat. One is cruel. One is kind. Both will help me let go.

* * *

Merida says I look awful. Not that I blame her, I performed four surgeries today and discovered that my new friend has Pitch for a pimp. Lying on the couch in Hiccup's apartment, she massages my back.

"You're so tense. And you feel so warm." She's sitting atop my ass, straddling my waist. I'm shirtless, she's wearing sweat pants and a tank top. If she was straight, this would totally be a compromising position. Her knuckles are deep in my shoulder blade. "Seriously, Jack, you're burned out. You need to take some time off, go on vacation."

I laugh into the couch. "Oh that's a great idea. And while I'm off in fairyland, maybe I'll even get to ride a unicorn."

She slaps my back. "No need to be a smartass. I was just suggesting."

"But you know I can't take off, Mer."

"I know, I know."

Everything moves when she sighs. My chest, her knees. For a second I close my eyes and try to will myself to sleep. Those Scottish knuckles, hardened by years in the Highlands, feel so good. Relaxing. Amazing. A groan escapes before I can stop it. She starts laughing.

"Getting a little excited, are we?"

"Shut up." Cheeks burning against the cushion. "It wasn't my fault, your masseuse skills are too good."

"I know it's not your fault, you big baby. Moan and groan all ya want, Tooth knows I've got eyes only for her."

She digs her knuckles into my lower back. Holy crap that feels awesome. Hours spent at the table. Standing and sweating. Operating and making sure no one accidentally died, all of that comes unraveled. Merida picks me apart with her magic fingers. Bones crack. Muscles spasm. At one point she thinks I'm laughing into the cushion for no reason, so she laughs, too. But I'm actually crying. The wire hanger is on the coffee table. She never asked about. Not when I got back from work, not when I laid down.

"What're you laughing at?" Tickling my sides doesn't help. Her effort just makes me feel guilty.

"What's so funny? Tell me, ya wee fanny."

I can't even laugh at her bad Scottish phrases. The tears keep coming.

"Jack…are you?"

Finishing sentences is overrated. She knows what I'm doing. The way my chest shudders isn't new. When my girlfriend broke up with me in med school, my chest shuddered just the same way. Merida was there then. She's here now.

"Oh Jack. Whatever it is, it'll be ok. I know it will be."

Body warm against mine. Elastic of her sweatpants, crinkles of her shirt. She lies down, resting her chin on my head. Arms wrap around me in a hug. There's nothing to say. Just silence, the kind that comes after a rainstorm.

Hiccup and Astrid spent the day together. Celebrating another victory is always an event. A nice breakfast in bed, two eggs scrambled, four slices of white toast. A lunch at Smokey Bone's, and then some swimming. They come back from the community pool, sunburned and dripping. Astrid's bikini is visible through her cover-up. I look sideways at them. Merida and I are now sitting upright on opposite ends of the couch. My scrubs back on, her finger absentmindedly tapping her lips. Some 1960's film called Lolita is playing. The ancient VHS player running. Why did Merida pop this in?

I had laughed when I read the summary. "So some old dude falls in love with a 'nymphet'?"

"It's deeper than that. Have an open mind."

"They don't do it, do they?"

She groaned and turned the TV on. "Just watch the bloody movie."

Hiccup's reaction is somewhere in the middle. He leans over, careful not to drip on the armrest. Bangs plastered on his forehead. "Uh, what are you guys watching?"

"A poignant examination of love spanning the age-gap."

"What'd you say, Merida?"

Another groan. Some sliding down the couch. "Just sit down and watch it. You'll understand."

Astrid glances over. "Oh I've heard of this movie."

"Well I haven't. Have you, Jack?"

"Nope."

"Exactly." Hiccup drops a pool noodle on the floor. "I've never heard of it, Jack's never heard of it. What is it? Are we supposed to—oh my God, is she necking an old man?"

Astrid mouths, "Necking?" and rolls her eyes. "Relax, grandpa. They do a lot more than 'necking'. And yeah, I've heard of it. There's a Lana Del Rey song about this movie."

"Lana Del Rey?"

Astrid and Merida groan at the same time. "Holy shit…"

And then a heated discussion follows in which they educate Hic on who Lana Del Rey is. I just sit and watch the movie. Black and white people moving around. Doing questionable things. It feels good to see how messed up other people are. Makes my problems seem small.

Another AU is popping up. With Hiccup in his white swim trunks, towel draped over his neck. Astrid tapping her fingernails on the countertop. Puddles on the tile are transparent. So my AU takes shape in the Lolita universe…

_His old lady is a bad lady. Not really old, but old to him. Long-legged and oh-so glamorous with pinching curls. She is fire, alive and smoldering on the end of a cigarette. She's bad but he likes the way she holds his hand. Rounded nails digging into his palm. He's the light of her life and fire of her loins like that Lana Del Rey song that reminds him of his life. Students call him harlot, who even uses that term anymore? But they say it and use it, an old dish rag with greying lace. Wringing it over and over again over the porcelain sink. They shout it at him when he's at the polo match, sitting on the fence with his Aviators on. He looks over the top, rolling his eyes and popping the lollipop back in his mouth. Straight between his lips that taste like salt water. She would know. They're sitting poolside, basking in the evening sun that looks like an old penny. Kind of like her. White plastic chair creaking when she moves. Adjusting the one piece that hugs her in all the right places. Hiccup is at the edge of the pool, his white Speedo dripping with water. Smells like chlorine and fresh plants. The hydrangea bush drops its flowers into the deep end. It's been a wet day full of cold humidity, if there is such a thing. Goosebumps run up and down his arms, making him shiver. He has his legs in the shallows, the other half of him stretched out on the deck. Clear rays touching his body. Sharp ribs are visible beneath his sunburnt skin, papery thinness written upon by her fingers. He's inked. But the tattoos are invisible. More like a branding that tingles when she runs her hand through his hair. She whispers in his ear, calling him Scarlet, their little nickname._

_Hiccup sighs and makes a water angel, waving his arms through the chlorinated puddles around his head. Today has been a boring day. School at the local private academy and hours by the pool. He's starting to prune. She doesn't like it when he prunes. He hears her footsteps on the stone. Never kneeling, because she kneels to no one, she bends over and kisses his forehead. Slow, dusted with martini salt and words from the book in her left hand. It fans her, the pages dotted with tiny drops. She feels the skin, sticky with sweat, and molds against its baby softness. No wrinkles, so young and fresh. Tender tulips buzzing with insects. The low fever and hum of butterflies. She closes her eyes and kisses her awkward rose. He is beautiful, thornless. Heart-shaped glasses on, she walks into the house. She's gone._

_So he stands up again. He stretches his legs, cracking his shoulders and toes. She's peeking through the blinds. Thin arms slice the water. One, two, one, two. Body bathed in clear water, bubbles fringing the Speedo. Splayed fingers slice. Scalpels through flesh and bone and life. He tears the bright blue ripples apart. It's all blue with him. Blue beads in his bubble tea, blue roses on the mantelpiece, blue eyes watching from afar…_

Actually, those are my eyes watching from afar. Because I'm the one on the couch, attempting a smile. Hiccup could be Lolita. Or in a more Japanese sense, a little shota with freckles on his cheeks. They keep talking about Lana Del Rey, then Merida scolds them for dripping all over the floor. Hiccup turns to me, drying his hair with the towel.

"On another note, tonight you really need to go back to your place. You, too, Merida. Tooth went to work today, so she's probably already home and waiting for you. It's been a fun weekend, but Astrid and I have some business to tend to."

Behind him, Astrid is pelvic thrusting.

Hiccup rolls his eyes. "I see you. And don't be perverted, we have to fix the light bulb in the bathroom, fix the fridge…"

"And then I'll show you some new MMA moves." She slaps him with her towel, making him jump. "No need to use euphemisms, baby."

Seeing Hiccup blush is always a treat. "S-Shut up. Just for that, you'll be the one changing the light bulb."

"Oh I would love to get my hand around some bulbs." Her evil laugh echoes off the walls. She's behind him, fingers dancing up his neck.

He's frozen for a moment. Eying her, taking deep breaths. "Ok, you're asking for it."

She screams when he picks her up. Holding her over his shoulder, a dragon carrying his virgin away. But we all know Astrid isn't a virgin. She was when she met Hiccup, though, so was he. That's their adorable romance story. They were each other's first. One and only.

He has a little trouble walking to the bedroom. All that muscle is heavy. I can see the tendons tensing in her thighs.

"Sorry, everyone, but Astrid is being a very bad girl." He can't open the door fast enough. "Merida, can you take Jack home?"

"Sure. You kids have fun." She stands up and stretches, shaking her red mane. "Come on, Jack."

"Right." The movie isn't over. I'll have to rent it sometime. "Hic, I almost forgot. Don't forget to stop by Aster's apartment. He's a good guy, you should invite him to our movie night."

He rolls his eyes. "All right. As long as you invite that Rapunzel girl."

"Oh, uh…"

"No 'uhs'. Just do it."

Astrid flicks his ear. "Just do me already, Hic. Open the damn door."

"Sorry, Astrid." He gives a wave. "Have a wonderful evening, Jack. See you at work tomorrow."

"Yeah. See ya." The door slams. Merida offers me her hand.

"Ready?"

* * *

I tell her to go down without me. I'll be there in a second. She stands at the end of the hallway, double doors propped open.

"I'm not leaving. But you take your time."

Rapunzel answers when I knock. Blonde hair stretched across her face. Smell of fried eggs is strong.

"Aster's showing me how to properly cook eggs."

My heart sinks into my stomach. "Really?"

"No." Smile, lean against the doorframe. "I just wanted to see your reaction."

Laughter feels good. "You're awful."

A shrug. "I try. So, what's up?"

I shrug back. I guess we're not talking about the kiss. Fine by me. "I, uh, I just wanted to invite you to movie night this Thursday. Me and my friends do it every week. And since you're a friend, I figured I'd ask."

"What're you watching?"

"Harry Potter."

Her eyes narrow. Teeth tug at her lip. "Which one?"

"The Half-Blood Prince."

She nods. "Ok then, I'll come. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Why does she make me so nervous? Oh yeah, I forgot about our incident in the parking lot. I run my hand through my hair. "Ok, well I'll see you later. Bye."

I'm halfway down the hall when she stops me. "Wait. There's something I want to say. Come back."

Back at the door. Eggs strong. Paint strong. Her eyes glisten. "So, I want to take you to get a tattoo sometime."

How the hell did she know? Can she read minds? I laugh it off. "Why? I never said I wanted a tattoo, blondie."

"I know. But I saw you eying Aster's tattoos last night. Mine, too. You want one, it's obvious."

Man, she's good. "You got me, Rapunzel. It's weird that we've only known each other for one day."

"Yeah, feels like forever doesn't it?" Her smile makes me warm. Fingers on my arm. A fleeting second. "Besides, I'm good at knowing what people want. I'll take you tomorrow, ok? You can get whatever you want, and maybe you'll get other stuff. Like answers about Pitch."

"Wait, what?" Not this again.

She grabs a lock of hair. "I told you I'd help you find him, remember? Just trust me."

Trust her…I'm not sure. Standing there in her denim shorts. Crop top hugging, her belly button peeking through. This could be a trap. But I don't care.

"Fine. I trust you."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Bye." Her wave is like a little kid. Leaving her behind at daycare. I've never liked daycares. They give you the illusion of safety.

* * *

Merida won't ask me about Rapunzel. She knows that Rapunzel is a part of my problem. So no questions. She drives with the radio on. Just high enough to hear the lyrics. Hiccup always gets onto her because she drives a Hummer.

"It sucks gas. You're killing the environment, Mer."

She'll stick her fingers in her ears. "Not listening! I don't care!"

We drive in silence. She's humming along to One Republic. Their songs are always interesting. This one's about counting stars instead of dollars. Too bad no one listens to that.

Driving by the broken down middle school makes me think of the time I got beat up. It's sudden, rushing into my brain.

They used to hit me. The boys in the schoolyard with their fat boy bodies and angry boy fists…

It happened on a Tuesday, right after school.

A punch to the eye makes some people mad. Others cry, water everywhere. I let the water rush over me. Bent at the waist, Batman boxers too big and ballooning out. Little rivers flowed down my back. Bat signals soaked through in no time, all of them plastered against my spine. Down to my pelvis, sharp ridges and scabbed skin. Scabs fell off. Some were picked, others ripped. I would watch them spiral down the drain every Wednesday night. Rivers flowed faster, down towards those parts that turned into squishy grapes if I'd been in the pool for too long. The part that felt hot when I looked at normal things like cute girls and panties and wet socks. And not so normal things like Spiderman comics and phones and that kid with the grey hands and awkward eyes.

Awkward in a good way.

But I could think about him later. Or not think about him, for that matter. How he walked with the shiny backpack pulled up high. Bouncing on his back pockets, if he had any real back pockets because he was always wearing slacks. Crinkles riding up and down the pressed pleats. Just how those horses move to the beat, bursting when the rider taps his heels. So many crinkles running along the inside leg. Bunching at places that made me wonder if other people ever felt hot.

After getting punched, I was hot all over. Not in the good places, in the hurtful places. Each temple and nostril, all of them bruising, blood flowing like the water down my back. The schoolyard faucets were meant for the garden club to fill up their buckets. The football team to cool off, wet their towels and smack each other. I got beat up there. I found the handle without looking. Shock of cold water keeping me awake, making me angry.

Boys yelled behind me.

"You finally had enough, Overland?"

"Piece of shit, get up!"

"Lemme beat the hell out of you again!"

A hand gripped my boxers. "I want these. They're nice. Take 'em off, faggot."

Nails against my skin, crooked, stained. I couldn't cry. Not like that. Kneeling on the ground with a stupid hand on my ass and laughter in my ears. Tugging, laughing, tearing, holding, shrieking, throwing against the faucet and bleeding and tugging back again. Gashes above my eyes. Unknown attacker number one threw me against the faucet. Second one pulled my pants down. Soaking wet, sliding down my thighs.

"Come on, Overland, Batman is my favorite superhero."

They held me against the faucet. It was burning hot. Eyes streaming. Each cackle was a needle in my neck. Someone took my boxers off. Brown leather belt was ripped from the loops. They wrapped it around my front and held tight. Pinching me, turning me red like an apple in Fall. Deep within the leaves and trying to hide from all those hands. They were fast. They were mean. They were painful to touch, to hear, their laughter clawing deep into my spine as the bleachers laid cold and wet on the turf. The soccer field dripping, storm clouds slowly leaving. Goal posts stood white and silent. No one would help me. There was no one there. And even if there was…

I gasped, face against the concrete. A pair of cleats next to my head. Muddy, a four-leaf clover tied around one of the spikes. What luck. I reached for it, blood mixing with rainwater, a few tears, too. It was cold that day. It was cold every day. I cut my teeth on my own tongue. Trying to hold back the tears and curses. They would never have the satisfaction. Yellow sun staring down like a spotlight. Just go away, will ya? There was no one there to watch. Just go away. Nothing to see…nothing at all.

One of the boys backed up, breathing hard. His knuckles were covered in blood. "You're boring, Overland."

"Yeah, were outta here." Another one gave me a final kick. Right in the ribs. "Thanks for the underwear, faggot. Hope you don't get too cold walking your naked ass home."

Yeah, that day wasn't fun. I had to get stitches, scaring my mother even more than usual. My sister cried that day. A lot.

Merida must have noticed the tears because she's offering me a tissue. Why does everyone keep tissues in their car?

"You're acting like Tooth when she's on her period. All moody and stuff."

I laugh and wipe my eyes. "And you don't act like that once a month?"

"Not really. Tooth says I'm actually nicer." She's suddenly touching my nose. "You've got an eyelash there. Hold still."

I feel like a kid talking to their mother. The nice kind of mother that'll give you hugs. But then she'll turn into a badass, kicking butt and growling. Bear-like.

The eyelash is held in front of my face. "Make a wish."

"Ok." Closing my eyes, I blow it away. Wishes are secrets, big secrets I keep in the box beneath my bed. I'll tell you when it comes true.

Merida drops me off in front of my apartment building. Her hand lingers on my arm.

"Take care of yourself, Jack. And when you want to talk, just call."

"Thanks. I will. But don't worry about me, Mer. I'm fine, really."

Her gaze is a bs-detector. She knows I'm lying, but whatever.

The elevator is waiting for me. Not many people live in this building. That's fine with me. It dings, the inside is cold and grey. Like someone I know. Someone I never want to see. Someone I am dying to see again. There's something sticking out from under my door. A letter. Black handwriting, too familiar. Dear God, don't let it be from him. But it is. I kneel in front of the door, holding the letter, wishing that I would just disappear.


End file.
